


Beware False Prophets, Which Come To You In Sheep's Clothing

by Biromantic_Nerd



Series: Biro's Bad Things Happen Bingo [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Batman: Prelude to the Wedding: Nightwing VS Hush inspired Alternate Universe, Don't Post To Another Site, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, False Identity, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Dick Grayson, Kidnapping, No Romance, One Shot, POV Alternating, Tied To A Chair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-23
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-28 06:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30135405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biromantic_Nerd/pseuds/Biromantic_Nerd
Summary: Because if he is truly that terrible, then Hush shouldreallyjust give up this imitation game of pretending to be someone he's not. Honestly. The hypocrisy here. Thomas Elliot really is trying to have his cake, belittle his cake, and then eat it too - even though absolutely no one invited him to this birthday party and Tommy should stop crashing it and justgo homeif he doesn't like the flavor of cake he's stealing.(Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt 7: "Tied To A Chair" + "Villain Hushor Zsaszw/Dick Grayson)
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Everyone
Series: Biro's Bad Things Happen Bingo [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186613
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	Beware False Prophets, Which Come To You In Sheep's Clothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BansheeQueen92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BansheeQueen92/gifts).



> Heads up - the POV in this changes only a couple of times. Also I feel like I changed up my writing style for this one (and this turned out SO long?? v excited about that. I spent the last five days working on this almost nonstop because I got really inspired and it turned out Long I'm so excited y'all)
> 
> title: a mixture of Bible translations of one of the more famous scriptures Matthew 7:15 about wolves in sheep's clothing. (I went through SO many titles for this fic) 
> 
> warnings: Kidnapping. Which includes slight starvation + dehydration, unsanitary conditions, isolation. Canon-typical violence. minor themes of attempts of Emotional/ Psychological abuse + manipulation but not enough to use as a major tag. Language: one joke with nongraphic sexual themes + occasional cursing. One scene of religious themes
> 
> Dedicated to BansheeQueen92, who requested the "Tied To A Chair" prompt + "Hush ~~or Zsasz~~ w/Dick Grayson" (I picked Hush)

His apartment is dark and cold in the early hour of the morning when he wakes up not long after he had finally climbed into bed. Drowsily Dick yawns into his pillow and curls up in his duvet for an extra couple of minutes.

It'd been a long night with Jason. They coordinated efforts to take surveillance on Black Mask shipments. Surveillance ended up turning into actual intervening which, surprise surprise, had turned into fighting their way into a cargo ship to either relocate or outright destroy the crates of goods. Naturally Black Mask's men did not like that and tried to stop them; naturally Red Hood and Nightwing thwarted their efforts.

A very long night. Well worth it, though. Even with the knowledge that he's agreed to visit the Watchtower and run through some pre-briefing prep work of the next mission he'd accepted to run for the League. Protocols to read, paperwork to file. Ah the bureaucracy of saving lives. It'll be a long day today, that's for sure. But _also_ worth it. And nothing Dick can't handle or hasn't done before.

He stretches in the warmth of his blanket, testing out the ribs which had been twinging last night after a few particularly harsh impacts between his thinly armored suit and the wrong end of a pistol. Or the right end actually if getting shot is the other option in this scenario. But either way, moot point now. His ribs are fine. The surface layer of skin is definitely bruised, no doubt, but the ribs themselves? Good to go. Just perhaps sore enough to rub on some topical mild pain relieving ointment before getting dressed today.

He climbs out of bed and again cracks a yawn, raising a fist to cover it. Pads his way across the carpet to en suite, goes the bathroom. He pauses while washing his hands. There's something off. He can't place it yet but _something_ is off. Ah.

The shower curtain is drawn. Dick had left it open last night but now it has been pulled closed. Inwardly he braces himself; he really hopes that someone isn't hiding back there like a cliche in a horror movie. 

Slowly he turns off the tap and dries his clean hands, all while keeping the shower curtain subtly in vision.

Then, with a spin, he throws his arm out and yanks the curtain open. Frowns at the sight of empty tile and shampoo bottles for only a second. 

Instinctively he turns, moves, but the shadowed figure just past the door frame doesn't launch a hit to be dodged or blocked. And the thin cotton of his pajama shirt provides no defense when instead the blow dart sinks through it and into his flesh. When he sways with blurry vision, the sound of footsteps approach on the bathroom tile. The sight of white bandages is the last thing he sees before he slumps over. Unconscious. 

* * *

Waking up in any place that isn't his bed always is not a fun experience. This is the rule. There are exceptions to this rule - a couch in the manor, a cuddle pile of heroes in the jet on their way home after a mission - but those are always _exceptions_ rather than the constant. As a rule, nothing good ever does come from waking up this way.

The first thing he becomes aware of is the rope. It's tied around his wrists and elbows: a sturdy nylon mixed with a more organic material of some sort. The rope ties his arms behind his torso - to a metal chair - and keeps his wrists and elbows spread apart from each other even as they connect in multiple knots. His legs too are tied down and tied together - all while not allowing them to come in contact with the other - but not tied as thoroughly as his arms. Ankles and wrists, elbows and calves.

The metal chair, when he attempts to tip it over, doesn't even wobble. He suspects that it's been welded to floor - yeah, that explains the sheet of metal underneath his bare feet but nowhere else in this place. Possibly a warehouse? No definitely a warehouse. One of those old abandoned ones by the harbor that the mafia families always use; he can smell the scent of heavy harbor fog - that's the second thing he notices. 

Whoever has tied him clearly has experience. Now one question is: is it the habit of an experienced professional or the paranoia of someone mediocre who's gotten a bit lucky in their better safe than sorry methods of overkill? Welded chair, odds lean toward professional. But - and here's the third thing he's noticed - there's no post. No one standing guard watching. No cameras either, as far as he can discern. Novice move to leave a captive by themselves. Unless, of course, that decision came from arrogance because of how talented a professional they are.

Second question then leads to is this a Richard Grayson thing since he _had_ been abducted in his apartment - or is this a Nightwing thing but Richard Grayson's apartment was just an easy place to find and subdue him there?

There's not much information to be gained yet about his captor - captors? So he focuses elsewhere for clues. Like on the drab warehouse room he's been left in. It's secluded off via a closed door - that's gotta lead to either a hallway or the main sector of the warehouse. He's still pretty much in the same condition he'd been in at his own apartment, more or less - in his PJs with the gross taste of morning in his mouth. Just with a ton of additional rope as a gaudy fashion accessory he definitely would not choose were it up to him.

But. More than the location, more than the multiple of knots tying Dick up, there's one crucial detail. The person had gotten in undetected to his apartment and had been able to nab him from there. So. It's _clear_ that they're skilled if they avoided setting off not just the alarm at Dick's door but himself which is much more difficult to bypass.

He doesn't have long to examine this rundown inner room of a warehouse or his situation before he hears the light tread of oncoming footsteps. He turns towards the room's door - and only point of entry or exit, seeing as there's no windows - and awaits the incoming arrival with calmness.

The door opens and he frowns at the person who steps inside.

The face covered in white bandages is just as indiscernible as it is recognizable. Hush. Thomas Elliot. Bruce's childhood friend who has since went a bit off the deep end in his obsession towards Bruce. Underneath those bandages, Dick knows that the face isn't Tommy's anymore. Thomas Elliot had his face surgically altered to mimic Bruce Wayne's own face, which he then tried - still tries, presumably - to utilize into an _extreme_ and somewhat literal form of identity theft.

Seeing Bruce's face on someone else is frankly weird at best and disturbing and nightmare inducing at worst. Luckily Tommy usually wears the thick layers he currently is wearing of bandages to obscure his face, wears them far more often than not. And today that too is the case, which at least is a small comfort in this bizarre encounter. Usually he enshrouds his face because that's become one of his calling cards as a villain. Not to mention that otherwise his allies would be able to recognize his very famous fake identity and even Hush probably has figured that wouldn't be good to get them mixed up into this personal self-driven feud between him and Bruce.

This does lead Dick to assume that this whole _thing_ has to do something with Bruce. Which does lean into the Richard Grayson side rather than the Nightwing angle of things.

Obsessed with Bruce, Hush veers between blaming him for everything that's gone wrong in his life or looking to Bruce as if he is a patron idol of salvation he can worship. It's uncomfortable at best. Very dangerous at worst, considering Hush's faux Bruce face in combination of his knowledge of Bruce Wayne being the Batman. Luckily, Tommy's too focused on Bruce; can't see the forest for the trees, and he has yet to realize the identities of the rest of the Bats. Hopefully that is still the case even today in light of Hush deciding to kidnap Dick Grayson and tie him up more securely than a farmhand can wrangle a cow - and between Clark and Conner, Dick has _seen_ some good rope wrangling.

Dick waits for Hush to make the first move so he can gauge how he's supposed to react here, how deeply he needs to play into the persona of a kidnapped civilian which, technically, he is at the moment.

"I have questions." The statement is said expectantly.

Well now he's intrigued. All this for a little Q&A? Dick's flattered, really; Tommy shouldn't have. "What do you - " He breaks off in feigned nervousness. "What do you want to know?"

The bandages covering Thomas' mouth crease as he smiles. "Let's start out easy," Hush says. Almost gentle, had it not been for the frantic undercurrent below its tenor and the situation Dick is in of having been abducted and now tied up by the man. "What's Dick Grayson's favorite color?"

No, really, that's the question he asks.

In surprise Dick blinks but quickly composes himself before even the second fluttering of his eyelashes. Well it's weird but not that weird if he thinks about it. Thomas Elliott is obsessed with Bruce - obsessed with destroying him, with becoming him. And this? This is starting to feel like an actor frantically preparing for their role. Studying. Rehearsing. Learning all the little tidbits and watching all the footage of cons and interviews. 

He probably needs this information - he needs Dick - in order to perform better as Bruce. He's method acting here. Who better to learn these sort of things than Bruce's own ward and eldest son? Dick's just thankful that Tommy didn't grab Damian for this; Damian would _not_ have the patience to maintain the pretense of a civilian identity. Favorite _color?_ Yeah, _good luck_ asking Damian _that_ one, Tomboy. Clearly he's chosen the best option for this, so Dick can't fault him for picking him.

"What's your favorite color?" Hush asks him again with the intensity of a rabid fan. The sort that delve quickly into becoming the kind which celebrities get restraining orders for. Even Dick's minuscule pause has been too long; he needs to make amends if he wants to stay on Hush's good side.

"Pink." He smiles at Tommy and tries to balance the act of friendly but also not so friendly that it seems strange. After all, he _is_ currently a civilian who has been kidnapped by a 'mysterious' man whose face is wrapped in bandages. So he needs to be amiable enough to be likable but all while keeping a nervous air about him. "What's yours?" He's curious to see what Hush thinks Bruce's favorite color is. 

"Pink," Tommy repeats instead of answering. Which, really? Is pink that shocking? Normally he'd say blue but since Hush already knows that Bruce Wayne is Batman, Dick is being overly cautious here. Answering with blue - likewise red or green for that matter are also out - probably won't be what allows Hush to connect Batman being Bruce Wayne to Nightwing being Dick Grayson. But better safe than sorry. So pink it is. Besides, he actually likes pink. 

Thomas lowers his chin down and through the bandages his eyes are staring at himself. He rubs a finger over his grey jacket and asks, "What about this?"

The question's ambiguous. Dick drops his smile but does not frown. Hush could be simply talking about the color. However if Thomas is thinking about offering his jacket, then Dick will gladly take it. A zipper might be very usual since Dick doesn't have any thing else to help him escape. "Very nice," Dick compliments in an overly earnest voice.

Thomas continues, unsatisfied, "Is this something Dick Grayson would wear?" 

Dick is currently in a very thin cotton undershirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants. It is freezing in this drafty warehouse; down by the harbor, it usually is. He'd wear _any_ jacket at this point but, sure, the thing's not ugly. Doesn't quite live up to either the pizzazz or comfort requirements he enjoys when selecting clothing, but sure whatever. "Yup! Looks toasty."

This is the right answer. It satisfies Thomas into running a hand down his jacket proudly. Though he does not offer it to Dick. Drat. Worth a shot. 

His next question is less strange than the first two - this one actually mentions Bruce's name, which honestly Dick had expected from the get go. "What do you call Bruce Wayne?"

"I call him Bruce."

The bandages over where Hush's mouth would be crease into a hidden frown. "Not 'dad'?"

Despite himself, Dick falters. It's, uh, a very personal question. "Um, no, not - not dad."

It's not something that Dick talks about. And not something he'll be willing to talk to him of all people about. It's personal - too personal for Dick to even put into coherent thoughts even after two decades. 

Hush nods. "Good to know. Good to know."

There's a moment of quiet as they stare at each other - then Dick drops his gaze, deliberately being the first to do so, and bites his lip for a second. Those are two of the few nervous tics he can perform right now, seeing as he's pretty much immobilized.

Tommy cocks his head and crouches lower to peer at Dick. His scrutiny is sudden and strange. Dick meets his gaze but then wonders if he should look away to sell his nervous act - doesn't but will if the staring continues for another ten seconds. "Your eyes _are_ very blue."

Uh. What? "Thank you...?" The confusion bleeding into his voice is only a tiny bit of an act. Hush said it like a confirmation of fact, a theory he'd believed in but that has only now been proven.

Hush nods and then straightens back up to his full height. Over the chair, it's enough to be looming. "Any food allergies?"

Is this some wacky pop quiz? Is he going on a celebrity trivia show and he thinks all the answers are going to be about Dick Grayson? Like? This is weird. Definitely not normal kidnapping procedure nor typical villain behavior.

"Um." Looking up at the ceiling as if lost in thought, Dick wracks his brain and uses this time stalling to glance through his peripheral vision to try and catalogue the exact placements and how many weapons Hush is carrying. He's been trying not to do that too obviously, to show his hand that he's even thinking about what will be a hindrance in escaping once he's done busting out of these ropes. His answer is a lie to distract that he's mentally cataloguing Hush's twin pistols and calculating how much ammo can fit into the pouches in the belt slung around his hips. "Apricots."

Hush makes an inquisitive noise at the back of his throat as if this is riveting conversation that he's actually invested in. Dick kind of wishes that he'd just get on with his monologue. After all he's _got_ to have one prepared; no one in their circle of business ever kidnaps someone without preparing a monologue first. That'd be embarrassing, a faux pax really. It's just how these sorts of things go after all.

"Do you usually visit the manor by public transportation or by cab?"

But maybe Hush doesn't have a monologue planned. Huh. That _is_ embarrassing. And Thomas Elliot calls this a kidnapping? Pff.

"...Cab," Dick answers. Then he bites his lip and then adds, "Um, when can I - I mean... Can you please let me go home? Bruce should have gotten the ransom money by now." He knows that Thomas wouldn't have sent a ransom; that defeats his self indulgent illusion that he really is Bruce if he has to ask the actual Bruce for money to spring his kid. Right now Bruce isn't even at the manor to do so - should be on the off world with Hal Jordan if Dick remembers Bruce's grumbling correctly. But hopefully mention a ransom will get Hush talking about what he really wants and how long he plans to keep Dick here.

"Let you go?" Hush shakes his head. "Oh no. Not yet." 

More annoyed than anything, Dick internally sighs. There goes the hope that this would be quick.

Hush must have come up with a list of questions because he then proceeds to ask yet another one. The joy of being interviewed; usually kidnapping tend to be a little more exciting than this. This is more boring than the paperwork he's supposed to be completely at the Watchtower. _Joy_.

* * *

When Thomas Elliot leaves after the game of a hundred and one questions wraps up, Dick drops the frightened civilian mask and gets to work. Adrenaline courses through him and helps to ease the sensation of pain as he meticulously yanks, pulls, and thrashes against the rope. 

If he can maneuver just enough within his diligent restraints, he might be able to dislocate his thumbs and eventually wriggle free from that section of knots, then maybe can work his way into freeing the rest of him from there.

He takes a deep breath. And then he begins to try and leverage his bound wrists into a position where there can put enough pressure on his thumb joints to dislocate them. 

He's done it many times before, especially back in his days of being Robin when he'd get kidnapped so often that it stopped being scary or funny and was just boring. Like, at that point, he thinks the Gotham villains should have been a little more creative. Put in just a little more effort, for crying out loud. 

Anyways. He'd become very practiced at this in his youth. Still is. It's just - 

He clicks his tongue in frustration. 

It's just that this time it's tough. The rope is wound too thoroughly - too constraining to get where he needs to go even though he tries and tries. Would usually be long out by now and halfway back to his apartment even. Not this time. 

In the early morning dampness of the Gotham harbor's fog that seeps into the building like a malaise, Dick feels sweat on his brow as he concentrates over and over again. Tries and tries. To no avail. 

But Dick's stubborn. And as long as he's here anyway, he might as well try. And try again. And try again. And again - and actually this feels like back in his youth back when he did have to practice and Batman would call out, "Again!" and kept restarting the stopwatch time over and over until Dick improved enough that Batman had been satisfied to move the training to a weekly course instead of the nonstop boot camp they'd been doing for - 

Dick frowns. He can't remember how long it went on for. Hours just like this. He remembers being released in the evenings and remembers wearing long sleeves for a month until he got good enough to stop accidentally inflicting rope burn on himself. He knows how to avoid that; this however is not a typical situation and not a usual binding arrangement. After this, he's definitely going to have to wear long sleeves for at least a week. 

Long hours of work go by with nothing to show for it. His attempts are fruitless thus far.

"Come on," He whispers. There's no need to keep quiet; after all it's an empty room in an abandoned warehouse with no surveillance equipment. Still he keeps his voice low, like any volume higher than a whisper might discourage the rope from allowing him success. "Come on, come on." 

His quiet chants and failures of attempts continue for many more hours still. 

And it strikes him, during this long stretch of time spent attempting to escape, as weird that Hush has been so abundantly thorough in his tying of tope to restrain _Dick Grayson_. If someone did this to Nightwing? Sure, makes sense. He does have a reputation after all; everyone knows he's competent. But for Dick Grayson? Now that's called paranoia. 

He briefly considered the idea that Hush had discerned that Dick Grayson is Nightwing - after all, he already knows that Bruce Wanye is Batman, and from there it shouldn't be too far of a leap to make that connection. Except Thomas' weird string of questioning led Dick to believe that this isn't the case at all. That this really is about Dick Grayson as a civilian and the eldest son of Bruce Wayne. 

In which case... Again, he thinks as he fails to dislocate either of his thumbs, that just makes this labyrinth of rope all the more frustrating as it thwarts him again and again, inhibits his movement so severely that he _still_ cannot manage to dislocate either thumb.

This must have something to do with his obsessions with Bruce; it has to. But why involve Dick? The answer doesn't come to him as he muses it over while chafing his skin against his restraints. 

Not once during these long hours spent attempt to break free does Hush ever make a return. Nor do any henchmen or underlings come to check on him, feed him, or rough him up. He still doesn't even think that outside the room or warehouse anyone's come by to stand guard, which makes it that more frustrating that he can't break free from the only thing preventing him from what would be basically the easiest escape ever. No, there's no one. No one comes in and no footsteps shuffle around the perimeter. Dick is left alone. 

Which... does seem a bit weird as far as these sorts of things go. 

* * *

The morning comes. The way Dick can tell what time of day it is becomes through the streaming beacons of light that come in through fissures and cracks in the roof, turbid air faintly glimmering with dust aerosol particles.

No sign of Hush. Dick hopes that he's not planning on just leaving Dick here. How rude! Not to mention how that would suck so badly.

His stomach's grumbling very unhappily after going an entire day without food or water. He can last longer - has in the past - but it's never a good thing to have to endure. Likewise, he can ignore the pressure of his bladder for at least another half of a day; if he manages to stimulate another adrenal response within himself, he can probably push it to two even. Plus, the adrenaline would help his body with ignoring the hunger signals its reading. So that marks a plan, he should get on cultivating that chemical response somehow. Try to trick his body into thinking it's necessary.

It makes him think of Damian, the whole chemical neuron science whatnot. Makes him smile, which is a pretty nice break from his current routine right about now.

Plus might as well use that train of thought to fight off the utter and complete boredom. He can easily picture the concentrated narrowing of Damian's eyes he gets whenever he lectures like the world's cutest college professor as Dick attentively listens, maybe as he steals swipes of hummus from Tim. 

Science isn't even Damian's forte but Damian's _such_ a smart kid. Anything becomes his mini area of expertise if he focuses and work hard enough. And when he latches on to something, he really gives it his all. For his science fair project last month, he'd constructed a homemade solar energy converter. He'd won a ribbon for it and Dick had taken him out to celebrate at the frozen yogurt place that offered a wider range of vegan options than the one closer to their house that they usually settle for because the toppings there are more plentiful and Dick's a sucker for those little broken up pieces of candy bars while Damian adores the chopped passionfruit topping there. 

Which. Is a nice memory but makes him a little too aware of his aching stomach. He tries to steer clear of food related thoughts after that - _which_. That's oddly hard to do when he is experiencing hunger like this. Almost like a scaled down microscopic black hole that keeps expanding further and further but so far isn't an issue yet; though it definitely will be and even now, while not an issue, is an undeniable force of nature in its own right. 

Dick sighs. It's the only noise in the room. Though occasionally he thinks he can hear the distant sound of a foghorn on a cargo ship in the harbor.

...Which coincidentally does sound vaguely similar to his noisy stomach. At least tongues don't make noise when they're deprived of water because he is definitely very dehydrated. His mouth feels like a shriveled sponge - a gross one. He laments that Hush nabbed him before he got the opportunity to brush his teeth because his mouth is gross. Gross and dried out. Man he is thirsty. Very, very thirsty. 

He tries not to think about that either.

The sun goes away - hidden perhaps by a cloud. Dick takes a deep breath and promises to himself that he'll install trackers on his pajamas pants, Bruce's tendency to invade his privacy be damned. Because his pajama pants will either be at home - or somewhere where they ought not to be. Like here. He sighs again, half bored and half lonely.

That's when he realizes the sun didn't merely hide behind a cloud, no, it had been blocked by _rain_ clouds. The rain begins softly and then picks up. It falls through the crumbling roof made up of holes, patchwork, and spiderwebs. Combined with the draft, it's probably a good thing that none of the leak falls on Dick. Still to his parched mouth, it seems like an abysmal stroke of misfortune. He's only about a yard shy from being able to stick out his tongue and catch raindrops.

So close but so, so far.

Because the entire ground is at a _slight_ angle, the warehouse ground runs debris into the metal grate underneath his bare feet. Muddy trails in minuscule trickles along his soles and toes. It's annoying more than it is anything else.

"When I get out of here," Dick grumbles. The sound of his own voice is the only human contact he's had in over two days. "I'm going to buy so many bath bombs." Talking... helps. Helps the lonely, aching pit in him that wants company. It's not nearly as good as an actual companion would be, but it does help. So he keeps at it. Even though his throat is dry, he keeps talking in a conversation so casual he can almost forget it's entirely one-sided. "I wonder if there will be any good new scents? Personally, I did like that lavender basil one but Damian said it made me smell like an old lady, so maybe I'll try the honeycomb scent this time. Or the lily flower if they have it. Lily is nice. I always forget how good they smell. Or oooh gardenias!"

The cold chill of the harbor sweeps through the drafty room and he pauses, shuddering in his thin nightclothes.

And then he resumes his verbal fantasizing, which is a good method of creating mental stimulation, which is important to do seeing as he lacks external factors in creating it. But this time he mulls over the type of meal he'd eat when he gets out of here - _after_ he takes a bath, of course - even though earlier he had dubbed it a bad topic to think about.

As if on cue, his stomach growls. 

Begrudgingly Dick switches to monologuing about whatever animal fact cones to mind that he can recall from his many sprees and binges of nature documentaries. Damian likes to watch them too. Dick's heart squeezes below his bruised chest. When he gets home, maybe they can watch some _Planet Earth_ together. 

* * *

Another day. It marks the second or third, he's pretty sure. Which obviously is not good. The human body needs either water or food after three days. Bottom line. No getting around it. So there's a bit of a big difference between say two and day three, so he hopes that today is day two even though he's fairly sure it isn't.

He smacks dry lips together and then frowns. Is this his second quick nap of the day or his fifth? He's losing track. And he's still groggy. The malnutrition isn't helping with that aspect either.

Even with the ability to see the light through the gaps in the ceilings and walks, Dick's internal circadian is still off. He is sleeping during hours that he knows are morning, awake at others that he thinks he should be asleep during. It's not something good, something to watch out for. Their training on how to survive isolation leaves him with the grim awareness that - even with the absence of darkness to abscond the sun and moon - it's affecting him.

And not just affecting his sleep-wake cycle either. The quick series of naps do and don't help. Those naps averaging about eight minutes of unconsciousness at a time - they don't provide rest per se, but at least it gets him away from the loud hunger and thirst that plagues him when he's awake, away from the unpleasant odor of urine that has accumulated in the days he's been here. 

He needs to be wary of other symptoms. He's spent longer in isolation before, knows not just academically but from experience first hand how it is when the hallucinations start. Though they should be kept at bay for at least a few more days. A couple weeks if he's lucky. (If he doesn't die first from a lack of food and water.) But one thing at a time. So he needs to alleviate strain on his mental health.

When waking upon yet another quick nap, he closes his eyes and imagines himself somewhere bustling with other people to fill this quiet.

Maybe a coffee shop. Maybe it's the one down on nineteenth street that he likes. Maybe a song plays over the speakers. Maybe it gets stuck in his head and he bops his head along and silently mouths the words and laughs when whoever he's been waiting for approaches the table and catches him at it. Barbara, he pictures, and imagines the way she'd make fun of his music taste for aligning with the sort a coffee shop plays, even though she too frequently enjoys indie and pop music. 

He can visualize Cass joining them. Tim and Damian. Duke. Stephenie. Bruce even. 

Can almost hear the grumbling and snickers and the over dramatics sighs. 

Maybe the song changes into something a little more rock and roll, something that has Jason explaining the intricacies of the grunge culture to a fascinated Cass. Maybe later at the manor she'll perform that very song on her cello and Dick and Jason will cheer and whistle while Bruce and Stephenie clap and Damian nods approvingly with stars in his eyes and a gusto motivation to likewise learn something on a medium it wasn't originally performed on.

Maybe Dick can imagine and imagine and imagine until a rescue team gets him out of here. So for a while he simply... keeps his eyes closed and sinks into the colors and noises of his daydreaming. Makes the bleak silent room of the warehouse disappear like a neat little magician's trick. He's a rabbit and he pulls himself into the silk hat instead, since he can't quite manage to escape the box before he'll be sawed in half. On the stage, in the coffee shop, the sound of an old Ed Sheeran song drifts him along like a leaf down the river. He's getting his comparisons jumbled up and so he stops thinking too hard about it.

It's not an old Ed Sheeran song after all, he realizes. It's "This Town" by Niall Horan. Barbara can't even make fun of him for this one; she once had a One Direction phrase after all. Dick's still in his 1D phase. He'll let her make tease him for that though, let her show Damian the photos of him and her at one of their concerts and laugh at Jason's rolling eyes and Tim's look of dismay. Tim listens to alt bands and experimental stuff. Reggae covers of K-pop on Youtube. He'd be listening to something like that, Airpods cranked higher to drown out the cafe soundtrack, as Bruce downs the dregs of his organic fair trade house blend coffee. He can almost taste his own sip of a double shot caramel latte. 

* * *

Hush still does not make a return. Not for the first time, Dick wonders _why_ is it that he's here. 

There has to be something he's missing here. He just needs to think and figure it out. He tries to utilize all the pieces of information he does know in order to discover any clue of reason as to why Hush wants him here. Comes up mostly empty handed besides the additional questions he garners while doing so. 

The questions. Dick is sure somehow the questions are important. But he can't make heads or tails of them. Other than suspecting it's Thomas' way of further honing his role of Bruce. Methodology acting and all that by getting to know Bruce's ward. Dick hopes that Hush isn't gone trying to pull this same kidnap and questionnaire routine on the others kids; maybe that is why he hasn't returned yet. Maybe he has then spread out between various warehouses all throughout Gotham. The idea of it has him again tugging against the rope in worry and again turning up with nothing to show for his efforts. 

He's alone with his thoughts, his thoughts that keep cycling back to the worry that the others too are alone somewhere. Dick needs to get to them if that's the case. Needs to rescue them before they die of dehydration or starvation if they've been in similar conditions to Dick's time captive - but to do so, first he must get himself out. 

* * *

He's in the middle of internally running through the differences in portrayal of Kali Sara through Hindi and Catholic lenses to keep his brain stimulated. He's neither of those religions; but, well, fancy private schools go hand in hand somehow with Catholicism and when he felt out of place there, Bruce had tried to help him connect to the roots he might have had. Which had eventually led to Saint Sara.

Might have had, might have celebrated had his parens been alive. He's not _sure_. Not sure like the way Bruce knows how to celebrate Purim and Hanukkah without his parents and without guidance from the rabbi he is too busy to visit. Not sure like the way Damian feeds the homeless every Ramadan instead of fasting - fasting would be dangerous as Robin, which in his eyes would defeat the purpose of fasting - even though his mom isn't here and the dad who is doesn't share the same religion as him. Sometimes Damian participates in Jewish holidays like Dick does on occasion - for Bruce's sake and as a loving gesture more than any personal belief - but even then, Dick thinks that he doesn't understand this almost inherited connection to one's parent's religion, not like Bruce and Damian and Barbara and Jason do. Barbara has Christmas traditions she enjoys with her family; Jason refuses to work on Good Friday. He's not sure, not like them. Because Dick doesn't remember his parents having a religion but he doesn't remember his parents _not_ having a religion either.

In any case, when his classmates in his fancy private school all followed the hip trend of donning necklaces with Catholic saints on them for protection - but mostly for fashion - he and Bruce had spent time together researching alternatives more suited to what maybe he could have had even though he isn't sure. Which led to him reading about the Romani saint Kali Sara just enough that he feels comfortable ordering a customized saint necklace to wear, just like his classmates wear.

It's only later on that he delves deeper. And even then, it's not for a spiritual connection or anything like that. It's simply to spend some quality time with his family. 

One day Stephanie has an academic about conversation with Damian about universal religious themes in poetry that somehow - maybe they asked Dick a question as the tiebreaker, maybe he had said something about his minuscule knowledge of the maybe beliefs of his parents that had piqued their interest - leads to the far less academic pursuit of all three of them spending the rest of the day huddled together in front of the Batcomputer researching Kali Sara, who Dick hadn't thought of in years ever since the fad of the saint necklaces had fallen out of style.

He thinks about that saint now, Sarah the Black, and how she'd been a footnote in that evening the same way most of the Robins had a Greek mythology phase after meeting Wonder Woman for the first time. Interesting but not worshiped.

He thinks more fondly about how Damian and Steph eventually continued their earlier argument over themes of God and/or Allah and how that can be perceived in transcendentalism and poets like Emerson. In nature and in art and in poetry. 

Jason had walked in the cave then. "Alfred said you were discussing religion in early American and European literature," He had said with a roguish grin. If anyone knows about the topic, it's Jason. Jason who is so into literature and poetry, who has read desertions about literature for enjoyment back when he used to be shorter than Dick. Jason who had grown up in a very, very Catholic household and therefore had a much easier time acclimating in that manner to Catholicism in his new fancy private school than Dick had. Not often but sometimes, Jason wears a rosary that, when shirtless, outlines the autopsy scars on his chest like macabre neon lights. 

Tim says that Jason probably just likes the gothic aesthetic that wearing the rosary brings. Sometimes Dick thinks he's right and sometimes he doesn't think so, like those instances when he sees Jason rub one of the black wooden beads subconsciously between the pads of his fingers as he mulls something over. 

He's thinking about the way Jason had been relaxed and enjoying himself as Stephanie and Damian joined efforts to team up against his analysis of the poems for Damian's assigned reading. Smiles.

When he hears a noise, it's almost less real than his memories he can see and hear so vividly. He opens his eyes - and despite knowing that something or someone has been approaching is startled. 

The rickety door swings opens. And stupidly both Dick and the two mafia men in the doorway stare at each other for a long, shocked moment. Neither party quite believing their eyes.

"Hey, hey!" Dick croaks out and then painfully swallows to try and moisten his throat. The men look at each other. Not helpful but not an antagonistic reaction either. They're definitely not here to do anything legal - no one in abandoned warehouses ever are - but maybe they'll be sympathetic to Dick's plight enough to let him go. He tries to get his thoughts together on how best to work this situation to his favor but cognitive issues isn't just a symptom of the isolation but _also_ a major symptom of the lack of food and water. "Help, please help, I've been here for days, please help - "

"Oh that must be the guy that Boss says that Hush mentioned." The man on the right says and the hope falls away. But he's stubborn and pretty sure this marks his third day - night now, whatever; he _needs_ these guys. He's not going to last if they just leave him here like Hush has.

"This place smells," The man on the left scoffs and makes to leave. Dick's sure that he wouldn't be a fresh daisy either if he was in Dick's situation. "Let's wait for Tony someplace else."

"Wait, wait - " Dick's tired. He tries to quickly think of the right words - the right balance of frightened civilian but while being pushy enough that they listen to him - but it's just difficult when his brain feels this sluggish. "Water. I think Hush forgot about me. _Please_ get me water. I'm gonna die."

"Not my problem," The second man says and then sighs when the first man doesn't likewise shut Dick down. The first one who is holding a plastic 7-11 bag; Dick doesn't dare hope for too much and yet does. "Are you for real?"

The first man hesitates. "I don't know. If Hush really forgot and we save him from accidentally killing this guy, that looks, don't it? Initiative or whatever. Maybe we can move up a little."

Oh great. The criminal equivalent of unpaid interns. That's what Dick's counting on right now. But when desperate when in Rome. 

The second man sighs again.

"I won't," Dick says and doesn't even have to work to make his voice sound that bad. Because it genuinely is, "Cause any trouble. I don't want to die. Just... Water?"

The men look at each other and then second one inclines his head. "Yeah, man, whatever."

The first man walks over, reaching into his 7-11 plastic bag and withdrawing a Monster energy drink. Which. Is definitely not water but at least that has calories and will help him fight off hunger pains. "Oh shit, did you _piss yourself?_ " The man asks and stops his approach, nose wrinkling as he eyes Dick in disgust.

"Hush _forgot_ about me," Dick reminds him. Neglects to inform the man that Hush hadn't even taken his basic necessities into consideration in the first place.

For a stomach dropping moment, Dick thinks that the stench is too foul for the man and that he'll just leave. But then the man curses and approaches. Only to become dumbfounded when Dick doesn't accept the can - being that his hands and arms tied up.

"Water," Dick reminds him when the man hesitates.

"This some kind of trick?" The second man asks. The sad thing is that it isn't. Dick is literally just trying not to die. He'll worry about escape later but he has to make it there first. 

"I ain't bottle feeding you, man," The first guy informs him.

"This is _way_ more trouble than it's worth," The second guy grumbles. He approaches them and, grimacing at the smell, takes a knife to the rope around Dick's left wrist. It takes a good minute to saw through it and then the connecting rope that binds that arm to the chair but is careful not to sever the rope that ties his left elbow to the chair. With his left hand free up to his elbow, the second man grabs it and yanks it in front of Dick's torso, not allowing Dick even a moment of opportunity in case he's a flight risk. Which - now would be a good time. Except he's tired. And hungry. And thirty. If anything, he'll attempt breaking out _after_ they give him the Monster.

The first man cracks open the can and places the energy drink in Dick's palm. The first sip is heavenly on his parched mouth. Dutifully he swishes it around his mouth to moisten it before swallowing. Waiting half a second before going for a second sip is a real challenge but Dick endures.

"Thank you," Dick says after his fifth sip. Grins widely even though it pulls painfully at his chapped lips. "I don't suppose you have any food you'd be willing to share?"

The second man sighs, his grip still around Dick's newly freed wrist. "No," He answers. Impatient but not malicious. "And when you're done with this, you're getting tied up again. And then I have to burn this glove and these pair of shoes because, fuck, you smell so bad."

"We could hose him down?" The first man suggests. Which is. A bad idea because then they're just going to leave him here? Drenched in the cold, damp air of a warehouse? But Dick's ignored as he shakes his head.

"With what hose?"

"A bucket then."

"...A bucket could work."

The two mafia goons consider it. Then the first one reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. What an amateur. Definitely the criminal equivalent of an unpaid intern if no one's taught these bozos about cellular triangulation. "Hey, Tony?" He speaks into it once it's apparent that the ringing stops and someone has answered. "You on your way? No, it's just uh... Could you bring a bucket? And some rope?"

Okay so maybe Dick's been too harsh on them. They're not baby interns at least, not if they know better than to leave him alone with one hand free to fetch the bucket and rope themselves.

Fifteen minutes later, Tony arrives with the bucket and rope. The three of them haul multiple buckets of freezing grimy harbor water and pour it over him. Utterly soaked, Dick kind of feels like that dog in _Homeward Bound_ who falls into the river. Or maybe it's a cat? They leave him as he silently ponders which character it'd been, going elsewhere to do whatever business they originally came here to do.

Alone and drenched, Dick's teeth chatter. But hey - at least he's somewhat hydrated enough not to die now. And he also doesn't smell anymore. That's a definite bonus.

He closes his eyes and lets his head drop forward, hair falling into his face.

He really hopes he doesn't get, like, pneumonia or something.

But... at least he'll be alive to get it. So Dick smiles, even as the dry skin of his lips cracks with the motion. A thin line of blood down his bottom line. He doesn't waste any saliva on licking it away. 

* * *

Hush comes back. _Finally_.

That he comes bearing water almost is enough to forgive that he's the one who left him here in the first place. He twists the cap of a water bottle and lifts it to Dick's mouth. Dick wastes no time in complying. Pauses to let his stomach adjust in between every third sip - it takes Hush twice to realize what he's doing, so it is twice that he dribbles water down Dick's chin when Dick takes these pauses. But then from there it becomes a steady rhythm of relief. The water fills him enough to cramp his stomach and still he pushes himself, thinking of the next time he'll be without for so long.

"I seem to have neglected you," Hush speaks after they reach the end of the bottle in this way. His voice is - different. Dick can't place the difference and by the time he next speaks, it sounds like it usually does. "It wasn't my intention, I assure you. After all..." He pauses and then makes apparent that he is quoting something by his tone of voice, "Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own."

The words are... not ideal for someone to hear when spoken by the man who's kidnapped them. Dick's brows furrow. Hush isn't the type to care about others in the first place.

Is this Hush's attempt at playing his role as Bruce? Is this how he thinks the two of them interact - actually. That'd make some sort of sense. Thomas abducting him, abandoning him for days - it forces Dick into a position of desperate reliance. Maybe Thomas is trying to reenact how he believes it would be like to be a doting parental figure. And using force to establish a scenario in which he can do so. A little Steven King's _Misery_ but hey he won't criticize the man for being unoriginal as long as he deviates from that enough to _not_ break his ankles with a hammer. 

It's hard to tell from beneath the bandages, but Dick thinks that his working theory of Hush trying to partake in Bruce's parental role matches with the pleased expression in the creases of bandaged mouths and corners of the blue eyes which hold the scrutinizing focus Hush is giving him. Dick blinks. Had Hush's eyes been that blue before? They must have been. After a few days of only seeing that ragtag bunch of mafia interns for less than fifteen minutes and now suddenly color is more vibrant when he's no longer alone, huh?

"Please," Dick says softly, endeavoring to look as harmless and frail as possible. He hates this sort of acting. Much prefers the glamor of bravado. "Can I have something to eat?" Step one: acquire food. Step two is probably a little more difficult to finagle but Dick is hoping to somehow swing access to a shower and a change of clothes. 

"Next time," Hush promises. Well. So much for step two if step _one_ is going to be a challenge to get. 

Dick shakes his head. "I'm worried that - It's just that I'm _so_ hungry."

"Next time." Hush loses his pleased countenance. "I have a question." If it's about his favorite color again, Dick is going to roll his eyes, civilian act or not. "What would you do if Bruce was - Rather, I mean... How do you get Bruce Wayne's attention? What's the secret?"

Dick frowns. Had he been wrong then? Was the kidnapping not some weird indulgent fantasy of Hush as 'Bruce' being the caretaker of his ward? Was it really just about garnering some attention from Bruce? "I don't know. I..." The answer is a little bit too truthful so he pauses to collect himself, to keep himself within the bounds of his civilian role. Still he wants to play this safe in case he had been right earlier about Hush's motive. "He's busy. So it just. Depends. Sometimes when he has the time, that's when he gives you attention. Nothing to be done about it the rest of the time, really." There. That's a good answer that can be applicable to Bruce or Hush masquerading as Bruce.

Tommy sighs. "That makes sense. It's just..."

It's just? What is? Okay maybe he kidnapped Dick because therapy in expensive and he needed a stand in replacement to talk his issues at.

"Sometimes people aren't what you expect them to be. Right? And I think... I think he isn't what I thought he was. Our _relationship_ even. It isn't what I thought we were."

Had Dick really been a normal average citizen and not Robin turned Nightwing, he has no clue what he would had said to this in reply. "Oh?" He says now because this whole conversation is starting to feel like Hush is two steps away from either crying or stabbing him.

"Not just him, and not just me either," Hush declares morosely. "The Joker. He came to me. He told me Batman was getting married. He was upset - said he didn't understand." From the sounds of Thomas' voice, neither does he. Hush clenches his fists, drops the empty water bottle to the floor when it cracks loudly in his grip and it rolls slowly in the directional pull of the slightly uneven surface angle.

And this is tricky ground here; Dick knows that Hush knows who Batman is but Hush does not know that Dick knows this - and he thinks that Hush _also_ thinks he doesn't even know about Bruce being Batman. He's tired but he needs to tread carefully in any replies he makes let he reveal either of these facts or, worse, that Hush hasn't realized who the rest of the Bat identities are but that Dick knows them.

"He said the idea that Batman could find love made him reconsider everything he knew about their relationship. About himself. And then he said - " Thomas' voice goes quiet. Quiet but angry. " - That I'd gotten it all wrong, too. That'd I'd spent all this time thinking I wanted to be Bruce Wayne." Hush stops clenching his fists and reaches up to unwind his bandages. The thought of seeing someone wear Bruce's face in this moment makes Dick's heart clench. His father here except very, very, _very_ much not. "When what I really wanted was to go back to when I was happiest."

And that? It's sad enough that Dick feels bad for him. Taken out of context - y'know, if said by anyone who isn't a villain or who has surgically altered his face to mimic that of someone Dick loves and then tried to ruin their life deliberately because he wanted Bruce to be joyless - it'd be _sad_. If it was anyone else. Okay, so it's still a little sad and his heart stupidly goes out for him - so maybe that's why it takes him a belated second to realize that the final layers of bandages are about to come off. Doesn't have time to emotionally prepare himself for the sight.

"To go back to being his friend again," Thomas laments. "So I did it, Mr. Grayson. I practiced my art..."

His hands pulling slowly, the last bandages fall. Dick hadn't had time to prepare himself to see Bruce's face. But this is _not_ \- this is nothing he could have prepared himself for. That's not Bruce's face at all.

The shock, at least, is easier to bear than the horror of what he had dreaded feeling in this moment upon seeing Thomas wield Bruce's face. The shock leaves him hollow, unable to react as _his own face_ looking back at him.

"The aim of art," Thomas quotes, "Is to represent not the outward appearance of thing but their inward significance." Thomas uses his lips to smile and the shock starts to give way to horror after all. "I've become _you_ , Dick Grayson."

The uncanny reflection of someone else appearing as himself is enough to rattle him. "But you're not me, Tommy," He says. "You're you."

"Who is it that can tell me who I am?" The cadence of Thomas' voice makes it clear that he is again quoting something. A tone well practiced and well used. "I do believe that privilege now is solely my own. Dick Grayson is you and Dick Grayson is me. Aren't we precious? Aren't we beloved? I haven't seen Bruce _yet_ , but your entire family adores us."

No. No, no, no. That's where Hush has been going when he's been leaving Dick stranded here? To the manor? With _his_ face? Oh no. His thoughts from before spring to mind - of the kids in warehouses scattered throughout Gotham - but now it comes to him far worse; the thought of his own face being used to lure them there or subdue them. That, _that_ makes his exhale shudder.

"Their attention is the applause of my efforts." Thomas uses his disguise made flesh to smile. The smile looks wrong to Dick's eyes but then again that's because it also looks _right_. The juxtaposition is unnatural. "Such a charming bunch. Rough around the edges though. It's no wonder that Bruce supposedly prefers you. Anyone would."

He waits, as if Dick should be flattered and will thank him for this compliment. Uncaring of a lack of response, he shrugs it off. His shoulders are wider that Dick's, his build thicker - shouldn't his family have noticed this? But then again, under enough assumed bundles of layers for winter and they might Dick is just cold. And it's not like he is incapable of bulking up; his stint as Batman had proven that. But it is unusual for him to focus on a sturdier build instead of a more flexible limber one. His family must notice this - if not now, then eventually.

But how long? How long can this masquerade continue? How long while Dick atrophies in this putrid chair while his family is exposed to an imposter undetected in their midst? The thought of Hush using his face to smile at Damian, Tim, Barbara - it sickens him. Cass, Duke, Bruce when they come back to the manor. He squirms uselessly in his bindings. Hates this helplessness that has endangered his family - and his town. How long will Blüdhaven be left bereft of a guardian? Already it's been days. And as long as Dick Grayson remains here useless, then so too will Nightwing be useless to anyone. If it's his face that has also trapped other Bats, then Gotham too is in peril.

He closes his eyes. His own reflection stain the inside of his eyelids, the lobes of his brain.

"If you say Bruce will come, then he will. Patience is a virtue after all. I can wait... I _suppose_. Besides," He quotes, "Genius _is_ eternal patience."

When Dick opens his eyes, Tommy's eyes stare back at him in the exact shade of blue as his own. Any chance at a sarcastic quip dies in his mouth. And though he's finally had water, his mouth feels dry.

As if they truly are of one mind, Hush smiles using the lips that look as if they are Dick's lips and unscrews the cap off of a second water bottle. "Drink," He says and his voice - that's what had been wrong with it earlier. It _sounds like_ an imitation of Dick's own vocals cords.

When Hush leaves him once more, he leaves Dick well hydrated with a heavy stomach of water and well equipped with a heavy heart of worry.

* * *

Jason answers the call and shoves the phone between his ear and shoulder and resumes his task.

"You need to come home," Tim says right from the get go. No hello or small talk. Jason sighs and waves off Roy's curious and slightly concerned glance upon hearing the sound. It's fine; Roy keeps whisking his bowl of eggs.

This is normal, anyways; their family never really did stop to discuss weather - or at least, not when it came to him and Tim on a telephone line. He's vaguely sure that he's talked about the weather to someone before at least once. Dick maybe. Could've been Duke though. He's fairly certain it had been mostly done in part to avoid Bruce too but maybe it was that time where he'd discussed the logistics of the Weather Wizard down in Central - which is a fair point in the conversation being with Dick after all because his friend's in that city so it had probably come up that way. In any case, he and Tim? Not the weather discussing types. Hell, he'd rather talk about the weather with Damian than Tim; at least Damian has an understanding of atmospheric pressure and can differentiate between cloud types.

"There's something up with Dick."

"What kind of something?" He asks, not all together too concerned. The baby birds are too apt to jump the gun when it comes to Dick. They're overprotective of their big bro, they worry. Which is all fine and dandy but should not be made into Jason's problem unless it's an _actual_ damn problem.

Tim pauses.

Everyone in this stupid family is too damn dramatic.

He scooches the red bell pepper over on his cutting board and makes to chop the orange one. Roy pulls a face that Jason pretends to ignore; Roy doesn't like orange bell peppers but he can suck it up because Jason doesn't like ham _or_ onion in his omelets but those are going in too. Compromise or whatever.

And tomorrow Kory gets them to make French toast with a side of mashed potatoes for breakfast because she's got a sweet tooth and a bunch of weird ass flavor preferences. Today she's in space so she misses out on the Harper-Todd duo home cooking; so does Lian because she's sleeping over at a friend's house. Both of the girls should be here for tomorrow's breakfast though. But if not? Then Jason is scratching the mashed potatoes off from the breakfast menu.

Compromise. Everyone, they like to joke, is half happy. Every pig gets his Saint Martin, which is one of the reasons why they all treat each other with respect and yet pull shit like adding onions and orange bell peppers to omelets and mashed potatoes as a side to french toast.

The phone wedged between shoulder and ear finally emits a reply, making him roll his eyes. "He called Alfred _Alfred_ , not Alfie."

...That's it? A call at five in the morning and a dramatic pause all for that? Jason shrugs. "Yeah, so? He does that on occasional."

"Three times." Tim states flatly. Which, okay. A little weirder, he'll give him that one, but still not exactly a cause for alarm - "Within one hour," Time finishes. His voice is hard.

Ah. Yeah, that'll do it.

Jason sets down his knife, leans against the cabinet behind him. Okay now he'll bite. "Right. What's the working theory? Multiverse?" They've been having a lucky streak of receiving visitors that don't try to kill, main, or generally ruin their selves of the this universe and honestly they've gotten a little lax about defense protocols because of it. It's going to be such a pain in the ass to be vigilant about alternate versions again, damn this potential Fake-Dick. 

"It's possible. It's definitely not our Dick."

"Have you called our Dick?" He uses the possessive pronoun solely because it's an accurate way to differentiate between this universe's Dick and a different one. Not at all because he too is lumped in with the dweeby overprotective baby birds. In any case, it causes Roy to set down the bowl at peer at Jason in concern. He mouths Dick's name at hi with a silent question he'll explain at a later time.

"Didn't pick up. Trackers are all either immobile or out of range."

"So wherever he is, he's not out as Nightwing or he's off planet," Jason summarizes flatly. A Nightwing disappearance could have trails to follow down, old contacts to inquire to; a Dick Grayson disappearance? That's trickier. Because if there's no ransom - and if there had been, Tim would have mentioned it by now, would have been easily handled anyways - then that eliminates most of the reasons why Dick would suddenly disappear.

Other people disappear all the time. They get murdered. They trek out on soul searches in nature to 'find themselves.' They elope in Vegas, spend their honeymoon worrying their relatives because they're too busy to think about phoning home. They have kids, can't handle the pressure, take off. But those are other people. Normal people. Those are not Dick. The most likely situation here is that Nightwing is off planet. Actually, that does sound familiar; he thinks Nightwing mentioned something about heading to the Watchtower soon when Red Hood and him teamed up to intercept some Black Mask cargo. Yeah, Jason's sure of it, Dick _did_ mention having an off planet mission soon.

Which leaves one thing really. "Who's keeping an eye on him?"

Tim doesn't need to ask for specification in which 'him' they're discussing. The imposter, of course. "Damian. But he has school, so it won't be long before he leaves - a couple hours from now. Alfred's doing what he can but -"

"But it's a security risk to leave a stranger with Alfred. I'll stop by the manor. Meet me in the cave - _tell_ me that the imposter hasn't shown signs of knowledge about the cave?" If they're really lucky, it'll be one of those universes where Batman hid the entrance to the cave in a different room. This isn't their first rodeo. Some of their alternate selves have once tried to enter the cave from a _fountain_ in the front yard. Like any Bruce would design something so visible from the public, honestly.

"Not yet," Tim affirms. "But he does appear to be looking."

Right then. Not a great sign. "See you soon them, Timmers. Don't get murdered by a body-snatched Dick in the meantime."

The reply is monotone. "Ha ha. I've lasted this long." Then dial tone before Jason can ask how long exactly that it's been since the Fake Dick has first arrived there.

"A murderous body-snatched Dick?" Roy asks. "You need help with that?"

Nonchalantly Jason takes the bowl of whisked eggs from his hands and starts pouring it into the pre-heated pan of melted butter. "Something like that. Less murder though. More like alternate universe shit. Nothing we can't handle." He tosses in the cubed ham and diced onion.

"Let us know." Roy shrugs but doesn't push his help onto Jason. Just assures him that it's an option if Jason wants it, doesn't shove his assistance down his throat like Bruce does. "Ugh, seriously?" He complains when Jason dumps the heap of red and orange bell peppers into the pan.

He gives the bottom of the pan a scrape with his spatula. "Half happy, remember?"

The _Stranger Things_ quote makes Roy roll his eyes. "Yeah, Kory and I should have watched that without you. I didn't know you'd be like this." 

"Cry me a river, Roy Harper, and then eat your vegetables." He gives the eggs a quick stir. "Set a good example for Lian."

"Vegetables are fine," Roy argues. "It's the gross _orange_ bell peppers I don't like. And Lian is at a sleepover. You know that."

"Yeah," Jason flips the omelet smoothy in the air, "And so I only feed them to you twice a month. I think that somehow you'll live, babe."

"I hate you," Roy grumbles and moves to grab two plates from the cupboard.

"You love me," Jason counters.

Roy snorts. And then he doesn't disagree and instead places a quick kiss on the top of Jason's bedhead before moving to grab two forks.

* * *

The manor looms as an imposingly as Batman. Similarly, just as majestic and expertly crafted. Jason does love to watch Batman work and he does enjoy the architecture of this gothic-romantic mansion. 

The long driveway is short when ridden on his motorcycle. He leaves it parked diagonally on the gravel and knocks on the door. Mostly for politeness to Alfred, partially for show because he refuses to own a house key for the manor and likes to rub that in when he visits. But someone should know who's at the door. Their security system is too good for Jason's presence to be any kind of surprise.

Alfred opens the door. "Master Jason," He greets, pleased. "I hadn't realized we would be expecting you. I'm happy to have been here to receive your visit."

The warm reception from Alfred is, as always, validating in a way that makes Jason's throat tighten but also makes his shoulders ease in tension. "Always glad to see _you_ too."

He steps fully into the manor and allows Alfred to close the door behind him. 

Alfred smiles briefly at his reply and then inquires, "Anything I can do for you?" 

"Nah," He says casually. Spots Tim at the top of the grand staircase talking to what has to be the alternate universe version of Dick. "Just came to give Timmy a little help with something."

Alfred follows his gaze and nods knowingly. "Ah. That. Yes, well, I best gather Damian for school. Good luck with your task."

Jason touches his index and middle finger to his forehead and then flicks them off in a lazy salute as he and Alfred part ways.

Tim sees him coming up the staircase but doesn't falter for a moment in his conversation with the alternate fake Dick. Jason doesn't care enough for small talk to wait for them to be done. 

"Hey, dildo," Jason greets the Fake-Dick, causing Tim's poker face to twitch hard as the alternate Dick spins around to face Jason with a baffled expression. Tim's never seen this razzing routine in action but Jason is old hat at this. Hazing fake Dicks who pretend to be from this universe is one of the only perks of this kind of shit.

That's the _thing_ with alternate versions of themselves who fuck around like this instead of being honest: they can't give themselves up. If the fake Dicks think it's unlikely that Jason calls his Dick as a nickname that's based off using wordplay - because y'know Dick's actual nickname is slang for penis - well even so they can't say anything about it. It's weird, it's unlikely - _but_ , just on the off chance that this is really what the Jason and Dick of this universe do, they cannot put it outside the realm of possibility to the point of commenting upon it and sending a possible red flags to the actual people of this universe. It's so very unlikely, but it's just likely enough that questioning it could give up the ghost for them and reveal that they're not who they've been claiming to be.

It's immature, oh absolutely. But watching the alternate versions of Dick, time and time again, when he calls them this is so worth it. Incredulous, appalled, disbelieving. It's just too much fun not to do it at least once. Besides, he only initiates doing this whenever an alternate Dick sticks out the long con of trying to pretend he's the real Dick. The way Jason sees it is this: no one can blame a healthy amount of secrecy and paranoia, but once the fake Dicks start thinking they've one-upped everyone else into fooling think into thinking they're the bona fide genuine Dick? That's when the gloves come off and Jason starts being a little petty. Okay maybe more than a little petty, maybe even a bit assholish. 

Some Dicks are worse than others; those are the ones that get special treatment of this razzing routine. Those are the ones whose nicknames get increasingly vulgar to the point that a couple of them are certain enough that this isn't the norm and dare to risk their own exposure enough to tell him to knock it off. Really funny then to try and make them fear that that isn't the case. 

And, boy, it still brings him joy to see _this_ Fake-Dick pause and visually try to decide how he's supposed to react to this in order to best mimic the real Dick Grayson.

"Did you need something?" The Fake Dick finally says. Which, kudos to them. That's not half a bad Dick impersonation. Goldie is always willing to help. But something about it strikes Jason as strange; it's in the way this Dick avoids saying his name in return. It's almost like this Dick doesn't _know_ Jason's name. Very interesting. Bizarre though. He idly wonders what sort of dynamic that world has. Because this Dick - wherever he's from - knows Tim, knows Alfred, knows Damian. But not Jason, huh? This Fake-Dick doesn't know Jason. Had he never come back to life there then or did the Jason of that universe just look so different that Fake-Dick didn't yet realize that he is a Jason too? There's a multitude of possibilities - in fact, an endless amount of such. Infinite combinations and all that, however the _Star Trek_ quote except apply it to universes instead of genetic diversity. Endless. Dizzingly so at the best of times, deadly so in the worst of them.

Alternate universes are such headaches. They start out fun to imagine all the different possibilities and scenarios. But then reality sets in. It stops being fun. Suddenly it becomes a long and complicated knot of 'what-if's and 'what could have been's that make one morose to think about how things played out in their own universe. Those pesky what if, what if, what if moments as numerous as they are haunting. It leads down a bad road. Jason thinks that maybe this is why they tend to ignore alternate universe versions of themselves unless they have to deal with it. If they don't disappear back to their own world, _then_ that is when they deal with it - and _then_ that is when they get plagued by that fraying yarns of possibility. The could have been, if only, what then, what now - all of that.

Yeah. This alternate universe shit makes him melancholy. So sue him for taking enjoyment in one aspect of it and for heckling all the fake Dicks that endeavored to pretend that they were not fake, no sir.

"No. Why, what's up?"

Fake-Dick glances from Jason to Tim and then finally back to Jason. "Nothing. Oh but, hey, do either of you know when Bruce is getting back?"

Ha. This version ain't slick at all. But he is apparently trusting Bruce to be able to solve his dimension problem - doesn't trust the rest of them perhaps to do so.

"He _should_ be back," Jason lies. "Like it's anyone guess because he said soon, so. You know. Soon."

The false Dick hesitates. Then he looks toward Tim, which is interesting. Another point towards Jason's working theory that he doesn't know who Jason is because that right there? An obvious look to check to make sure Jason isn't lying. " _How_ soon?"

Luckily Tim backs him up. "Could be an hour, could be a day or two. You know how Bruce is."

The fake Dick smiles. "Yes," He agrees and Jason's eyebrows climb to his damn hairline at how ominous it sounds even under the saccharine tone. "I _do_ know how Bruce is."

Yeah. Jason snorts. Yeah, that doesn't bode well but it might just also be funny at least when the shit hits the fan, which is really all that they can want from these types of scenarios. 

Judging from Tim's narrow eyes, he disagrees. Kid could lighten up a bit, here, Jason will lead bu example - he doesn't want to hear any more complaints about being him a shitty older brother or that he had attempted to maim Tim in the past. 

"Out of all of us," Jason agrees because he's funny and has an actual sense of humor, "You _do_ know him best." 

This simultaneously pleases the imposter version of Dick Grayson while displeasing the authentic Tim Drake. Which is just a perk really. 

"Are you going to help or not?" Tim hisses once the fake Dick begins to leave.

Jason watches him clear the first corridor before replying. "I am helping. Doesn't mean I can't have a little fun." He takes a step downward and nods in that direction. "Now how 'bout we have a chat over some coffee and I'll let you know my game plan?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he continues descending the stairs, turns his back to Tim in a display of trust that's been years in the making but still makes his skin crawl even as he does it. The paranoia, it never leaves ya. Just ask Bruce.

Tim grumbles but follows him down the staircase. "You're buying." 

"You called me," He corrects. " _You're_ buying." And he can't see it but he can feel the scowl aimed at the back of his head as silently Tim concedes the point.

* * *

Hush comes to feed him a peanut butter jelly sandwich. _Actual food._ The intensity of his emotions upon seeing food shocks him. It's to be expected - he's not mentally at his best right now - but still all the same the happy tears spring to his eyes are almost more embarrassing than the scent of urine upon himself - which Hush hasn't commented on yet actually. Dick wonders if maybe a loss of scent is a side effect of having one's nose so drastically rearranged by plastic surgery; then again celebrities do that all the time.

Thomas holds the bread up to his mouth and Dick closes his eyes because he thinks he stands a legitimate chance of really crying upon his first bite. PB&J has never tasted so good. He opens his eyes once he believes he can keep it together enough not to bawl over a basic human necessity. 

While Dick chews the sandwich, he eventually becomes thankful for the water bottle he spots in Hush's grasp because - though the sandwich is _food_ , wonderful food - the peanut butter in it makes his dry mouth even more unbearable.

Thomas waits until a moment in which Dick's mouth is too occupied chewing to speak, a clear way to prevent an immediate interruption. "You know," Hush says in his voice that sounds so similar to Dick's own, "Your family doesn't notice that I've become you. I don't believe they need two of us and I'm doing a good job as you. I think I can take over the role permanently."

Dick glares.

The mention of his family is a sore point. He's worried even though he knows they can handle themselves. But so usually can Dick and looks how that's worked out for him. Also it's just that they're not braced to expect someone posing as Dick. Sure, they have contingency plans for alternate versions of themselves but Dick knows that the other Bats - besides Bruce and Cass - have become pretty lax about that in these past couple years after a particularly enjoyable incident with an alternate Alfred who had delighted in exchanging recipes with _their_ Alfred; and so they often prefer to wait it out now. It.. might be some time before any of them discover that there isn't an alternate universe to send Hush back _to_ \- that he originates from this one, the one where he's abducted Dick.

At his anger, Hush merely laughs. His laugh doesn't sound like Dick's laugh. It's off, way off. It's a small pleasure but it is indeed a pleasure. Hush isn't nearly as good as he thinks he is.

"But that's not anytime soon," Hush assures him. "We still need to... _perfect_ all the details first."

The plural pronoun grates at Dick's nerves. "You're not going to let me go?" He asks but knows the answer. It's something he should have figured out sooner. Would have if he hadn't been so busy focusing on his survival without food and water and prevention himself from becoming unhinged during this bout of isolation.

Hush avoids answering outright. "I'm going to need to keep you for when I finally get to speak to Bruce again."

Dick bites into the sandwich to occupy his mouth because otherwise he might snark that Hush does need to keep Dick for when he encounters Bruce - just not for the reason Hush thinks. Bruce follows the alternate self protocol with extreme prejudice. Good tabbouleh recipe from alternate Alfred or not. He just has to wait until Bruce gets back from whatever mission he's on, just has to wait until he realizes that the rest of the family has yet again skimped on getting rid of multiverse pests and Bruce'll fix that straight away.

And then? And then it's only a matter of time before the team of brilliant detectives takes it from there and reaches the conclusions that will lead them here. And if Hush is willing to wait, then he is enabling that so too Dick can wait as well.

* * *

It's on Tim's dime so Jason orders a yuppie cold brew coffee infused with Nitro and topped with vanilla bean cold foam. Tim doesn't even bat an eye and orders one hot cardamom rose latte with caramel drizzle _and_ a solo.

"Make that two solos," Jason corrects to the barista because one straight shot of pure espresso does sound good to him too.

They grab a table at the outdoor seating area. Less chances of eavesdroppers, more chances of being ambushed. A give and take. The exposed feeling of his back in the open air in this kind of patio seating always sends chills down Jason's spine, no matter the weather. The only comfort is that outside has more maneuverability. If something goes down, there's way more room to fight or run than inside would have.

The waitress brings their tray of drinks over and leaves after they tip her. Tim wraps his hands around the larger cup of coffee, the latte, and sighs at its warmth. "That reminds me..." Tim blows at the steam of his latte and then finishes his train of thought, "What do you think is up with the gloves?"

Picking up the itsy bitsy white mug between two wide fingers, Jason downs his solo shot of espresso in one gulp and sets it down empty. "Gloves?"

Tim shrugs. "It's cold but not _that_ cold out. And we were inside. Yet, as far as I've seen, he never takes them off. Not once - not even when we're eating."

This gives Jason pause. "You're right. Yeah. that's something. Huh." He takes a sip of his cold brew and doesn't need long to consider it. "Obviously then we need to find out why. See what he's hiding underneath there." The cold foam tastes more like vanilla extract than vanilla beans but other than that it's some good shit. Maybe he'll take Roy, Kory, and Lian here sometime in the future, but first he'll have to make sure they have like cake pops or something for Lian because even Jason knows better than to feed toddlers caffeine.

Tim nods and then goes to sip at his hot cup of coffee, winces as the temperatures hits his tongue and hastily swallows that first sip. He should've gone with an iced beverage like Jason has ordered. Jason takes a drink from his coffee to rub it in a bit. But Tim merely lifts his own little white mug of espresso and downs it like Jason had. "So how're we gonna do this?"

Jason mulls that over. "We could follow him around and to wait to see if he ever voluntarily takes them off. Seems unlikely though considering he eats with them on. Not to mention tedious." Silently Tim nods as he blows again a couple of times on his coffee in attempts to cool it down to a drinkable temperature. "So instead, we ambush him. Take the gloves off." 

Tim shakes his head. "That's a simplification and not a plan. Obviously I've already realized that the gloves need to come off. Like I said, that doesn't make it a _plan_." 

Jason leans forward. "Trust me. I have a plan." But whether or not it works, Jason _is_ telling the truth: he has a plan. 

Tim sighs. Takes a sip of his fancy latte and doesn't recoil from the heat of it but doesn't look happy with it either judging by his grimace. He sighs again and pushes the saucer to the middle of the table. "Should we get our Dick in on this plan of yours?" Tim asks. The person walking behind him double takes at his wording and Tim doesn't even flinch as she walks away quickly.

"He's supposed to be off planet." Jason shakes his head. Contemplates stealing the latte Tim is clearly done with; on one hand, free shit is always nice- but on the other hand, obviously it's disgusting otherwise Tim would be drinking it.

"Makes sense." Tim leans his chin on one hand. "When I called to check up on his workplace while on the way over here, they said he put in his notice for some time off." 

"He and Bruce really can pick some lousy timing," Jason scoffs. Go figure that he and Bruce are so in tune with each other that even now they're both off planet at the same times. Honestly. Even when they're separated they're still kind of a packaged deal. It stills annoys Jason, if he's being honest with himself. The way Bruce and Dick always got each other - how were any of them supposed to compare after that? How can any act follow when you start it off with the grand finale? It doesn't hurt - hasn't since he was about fourteen - but still it annoys him.

Jason reaches forward and plucks Tim's abandoned mug of its saucer, takes a sip. He grimaces. "That is awful." He takes another sip anyways. The second taste is just as bad at the first one.

"Dick would like it," Tim decrees like both an argument and an insult to Dick. "He likes sweet things."

Sweet things, sure. Whatever the hell this is supposed to be? No. Jason scoffs. "Twenty bucks says he wouldn't."

Tim cocks his head to an acute angle. "Ours or the fake one?"

As if Jason would bet on some stranger. "Ours, dipshit."

Tim grins and lifts a hand. "Deal." They shake on it. Twenty bucks on the line. Jason feels confident about this.

* * *

In a whirlwind of emotion, Thomas Elliot returns in a vivacious fit of life that this drab warehouse room has been bereft of.

"Why isn't Bruce _here_ yet?" He whines. Begins pacing the room with wide arm gestures as he walks about in obvious emotional distress. "I've been so patient. Tell me why!"

"Water first," Dick demands. "And then I'll talk." 

Hush pauses and then turns to him. In his parched throat, Dick gulps at the uncanny sight of his own face looking back at him. It's not something he can get used to, no matter how he tries to brace for it.

His eyes match the exact shade of Dick's blue, Dick notices yet again. Is he wearing colored contacts, he wonders this time. Those eyes stare down at him in apathetic coldness. Then pity twists his mouth into a pantomime of a smile. " _You_ don't know, so there's no point in asking _you_." He makes the word 'you' sound like an insult - like a really scathing one. Almost sounds like a curse word in how he pronounces it.

He almost laughs; only doesn't because of how dry his mouth and throat are.

Because if Dick is truly that terrible, then Hush should _really_ just give up this imitation game of pretending to be someone he's not. Honestly. The hypocrisy here. Thomas Elliot really is trying to have his cake, belittle his cake, and then eat it too - even though absolutely no one invited him to this birthday party and Tommy should stop crashing it and just _go home_ if he doesn't like the flavor of cake he's stealing. 

"After all," Hush says. His voice loses the cadence in which he imitates the sound of Dick's voice, becomes a little more Thomas Elliot. "They are darkened in their understanding. You don't even know what you don't know." 

The villain gloating like this is admittedly is one of the first things that's gone as it should in this abduction. Feels normal. 

He draws his brows together in an appearance of worry. "What don't I know?" Dick asks.

Hush laughs and it sends chills down his spine. Because that? That laugh is a _Bruce_ imitation. Not Dick Grayson, not Thomas Elliot. "Don't worry your pretty little head." He tilts his own head and then laughs and it's back to sounding like an impression of Dick. Which is still extremely weird but at least it rankles his nerves less. "Don't worry _our_ pretty little head, I should say." 

Okay If the stolen face thing hadn't _already_ been super mega creepy, then it sure as heck would be now after that. 

Thomas then quotes, "For as the eyes of bats are to the blaze of day, so is the reason in our soul to the things which are by nature most evident of all." He pauses; in this pause, Dick thinks of Jason because that's Aristotle isn't it? Jason would know. "But don't feel too bad about not figuring it out. You did drop out of college, after all. Maybe you should have stayed there and learned a couple things." 

If it hadn't been so creepy to be addressed as the same pronoun, Dick might have snarkily corrected the singular use of 'you' since apparently there was a 'they' and 'our' now. But, wisely he thinks, Dick holds his tongue on voicing this. 

But also, he is starting to feel a little indignant here. If Thomas Elliot thinks he's so above Dick, then why is he taking such drastic action in trying to become Dick? Not that Dick wants him to go back to imitating _Bruce_ but... Tommy can at least lay off a bit here in the condensation towards Dick! That doesn't seem like too much to ask for from the person whose face is the original version of what Thomas has reproduced onto his own. Right? Right. 

But going to college and being smart are not two exclusive concepts. Thomas Elliot haughtily thinks he can quote Aristotle and that Dick won't understand that the aforementioned 'bat' in the quote is an allusion to Bruce's secret identity. Please. Spare him.

He's almost embarrassed for Thomas. Like it's obvious that he thinks Dick doesn't know that Bruce is Batman. But to gloat about it? To _Nightwing_ , whose identity Hush hasn't figured out? No wait Dick really does feel a wave of secondhand embarrassment. 

But the embarrassment doesn't last for long. It gets eclipsed beneath his unease as Hush stares at him with assessing eyes that clearly find him wonderful in his usefulness. The look... It reminds him of a less intense version of the way _Slade_ looks at him. Pragmatic and possessive and as if imagining how to best utilize him. Objectifying in the sense that it makes him feel more like a weapon to be wielded than a human being - and that they imagine their hand on his hilt directing the aim of his attack.

Chills go down his spine and linger even when Hush leaves him alone once more.

He closes his eyes, breathes out slowly, and begins to whisper a Dolly Parton song just to fill the room with something other than his emotions and thoughts

* * *

The alternate Dick avoids touch with Jason. He's wary of him to an unreasonable degree - or maybe not, considering that _his_ Jason might have done some shit in their universe that this Jason hasn't. So the straightforward, initial plan of Jason yanking off a glove? Kaput. The Fake-Dick's far too skittish around him for that. If he's too forceful, Tim cautions, he might tip off that they're aware that this isn't their Dick. Which would be especially bad if this _does_ end up being one of those evil versions with dastardly plans like Tim is somewhat worried about.

He implements the plan in a variation.

"Pull his glove off," Jason tells the kid after he explains.

Damian frowns harder than his default resting face. "Why should I have to _touch_ some stranger?"

"You touch strangers all the time!" Jason tries to persuade him.

" _As Robin._ " The correction is declared as if it should be obvious.

"Come on. Tim and I are trying to see what's up with this one - make sure he's not scheming up any nefarious plans in this universe - and then we'll send him back to wherever he came from. Easy, simple. Besides! The multiverse protocol clearly states - "

Damian holds up a hand. "Neither you nor Tim have been keen on following those protocols. Otherwise he'd _already be gone_."

And the way the kid says it with total condemnation even though he too has been amiss in the duties of the alternate universe visitor procedures is absolutely hypocritical. And very similar to his dad, wow, that is Bruce's patented routine of hypocritical disapproval right there down to the letter - except coming from like three feet shorter. Okay, fine, roughly two and a half feet but still.

"Why can't you just send him back without the dramatics of this?" Damian asks.

Jason repeats something Tim had told him while at the coffee shop. "Even for an alternate universe, doesn't he seem... _off_ to you?"

Damian's eyes flicker to the side in a tell that neither Dick or Bruce would do - one that he did not used to do. A curious new development. Someone's gotta teach the kid to knock it off; but that someone isn't going to be Jason today. "Of course he's _off_. He's not ours."

"More than that."

Damian's gaze meet his. And Jason knows that he understands and agrees completely.

The kid sighs. "Fine."

"Attaboy," Jason pats him on the shoulder but it's totally worth the immediate punch in the thigh he gets in return. A good trade off in affection that Dick has tried to curb the habit out of Damian but so far has only succeeded for himself; he gets hugs, the rest of the family gets punches. Sounds about right. That's the story of Goldie's life, isn't it?

Jason lounges in the Batcave with Tim as they await the results. The main Batcomputer has a video feed that shows the interior of the kitchen. Not all of the rooms have surveillance - for privacy supposedly even though they all know how shit Bruce is at respecting their privacy - but _all_ of the ones downstairs do because of an incident at a ball that had been crashed by Condiment Man which had not spared the kitchen.

As planned, Damian lures the Fake-Dick into the kitchen. Nearest to that monitor, Tim is seated in the main chair and watches. Leaning against a display case housing an array of weapons - such as a pair of wrist guns from Deadshot, a couple of question marks from Riddler, an ice bomb from one of Freeze's henchmen - retrieved from various villains within the glass, Jason too watches the feed while lazily flipping a switchblade between his fingers.

To this fake Dick, Damian doesn't pose as a threat maybe - which, in this universe, sure Jason will agree with that assessment too that Dick would be more apt to trust Damian than Jason but to disregard Damian being a threat at all? foolish - and it makes easier the moment when Damian pretends to accidentally stumble and catch himself on Dick's hand. Pulls of the glove.

Maybe, had Jason taken a guess, maybe he's come up with a few theories. Hidden spying devices or weapons tucked underneath this Dick's sleeves that the gloves keep secured. Hidden prosthetics perhaps that would give it away that he's not this universe's Dick. An embarrassing knuckle tattoo even.

It doesn't matter. All of those are wrong.

Tim inhales sharply.

Jason's fingers catch the switchblade automatically but then still.

The skin underneath the gloves isn't the brown of Dick Grayson's face. It's white.

The realization sends him reeling. "This isn't a multiverse incident," Jason breathes out in horror.

On the screen before them, the false Dick tries to be discrete as yanks the glove back to rights while he flees the kitchen. Damian watches him with wide eyes. In the empty kitchen, Damian immediately heads out of the kitchen. Flipping buttons and typing quickly, Tim moves to follow his path on the different cameras. It's apparent where Damian is heading. The study. To the cave's entrance. Jason would too if he was him. There's a long, shocked bout of silence in the cave as they watch Damian's hurried footsteps.

This is why he doesn't get involved in family shit. It's never as simple as discovering what the fake Dick is planning to do while disguised as the real one, thwarting him, and then sending him back to his universe after a good ass kicking. No, never that. It always has to have another layer. 

Jason rubs his forehead. "This isn't even a real Dick. It _really is_ an imposter. Oh hell."

"Maybe this Dick is just... white?" Tim suggests but doesn't even sound convinced of his own words.

"Even _had_ that been the case," Damian challenges before he finished descending the staircase, "Then he wouldn't have hidden it in the first place." Jason doesn't know if he agrees with that. That's the _thing_ with these alternate interlopers who try to pretend that they're the original. They do whatever it takes to assimilate and blend in to this universe - especially if they have nefarious plans like Tim had _thought_ this one was up to, which is why he came to Jason. But he has a feeling now. That this? This is not one of those times. This isn't for assimilation, no.

Perhaps it's the horror creeping up on them that they didn't catalogue this appropriately, that they misjudged the severity of threat and have been allowing this fake Dick to wander around because they had assumed he was just another wayward multiverse being that could be dealt with at any time. Because Tim again defends the fake Dick theory with, "Maybe he realized this universe's Dick is Romani."

Jason can understand his wanting to not believe that they have all been so stupid and amateurish. "You're forgetting one thing."

Tim and Damian turn to him.

He grins, sharp and feral. "It doesn't _matter_ where he's come from or who he is. What matters is that he has Dick's face."

"Yeah?" Damian asks impatiently. The fact is obvious; they already know that. But both baby birds are missing the subtext here, the underlining meaning.

"Something tells me," Jason says, "That it wasn't _our_ Dick that called in a leave of absence to his workplace."

Light bulb moment. Tim and Damian get it at the exact same time. Tim closes his eyes for a moment, as if struck by a blow too late to brace for, and Damian stills so completely that he looks like he's been shot by a freeze ray.

They had assumed that their Dick's been off planet. Asses of you and me, indeed. The timeline he's been gone matches a _little_ too perfectly with the arrival of this guy.

"Where," Damian demands in a scarily calm voice, "Is Richard?"

Jason's grin turns a little less mean, a little more excited. "I think we ought to go find out." Stiffly Tim nods; Damian's eyes burn. Good. They can channel that anger in the field. Against that imposter. He cracks his neck to the side sharply. "Suit up."

* * *

Placing the tracker on the imposter is as easy as a rough pat to the shoulder by Tim. Waiting for him to make his move is easy too for Jason - not so much for the little brat who's heart practically beats for his eldest brother. Robin paces the floor of the Batcave as Red Hood runs over the inventory in his utility belt solely as a precaution; he always restocks all his little gadgets and tools, but it never hurts to check twice.

Once the false Dick veers from the area of Old Gotham towards the Fashion District, they head out. It's well beyond enough of a head start that he won't suspect them of following. They will make up the distance quickly in any case.

"Spread out," Red Hood directs into their channel over the coms. "Robin, you head towards Grant Park. Double R, you take the Financial District. I'll head towards Miller Harbor." That's the furthest of the three locations; he assigns it to himself because he's the fastest one here. "Keep your eyes peeled for our Grayson but keep your focus on entrapping the fake one. No matter where his cab takes him, we'll have him surrounded. When his tracker stops, we'll be primed to converge on his location from all angles - no matter what sort of precautions he may have instilled."

"Roger that," Red Robin announces and makes for his assigned destination.

Red Hood sees him veer right while Robin adjusts his course from the rooftop over to Jason's left with a quick rolling flip. "Copy," Robin replies in a hard voice. He's taken this whole thing hard. Jason can't blame him. It's their own fault that they were too lax about following the procedures set in place for visitors from alternate universes - procedure which are there for a reason. If they had followed those protocols sooner, it would have been discovered early on that who they're dealing with isn't an alternate from a multiverse - it's an imposter from this universe.

His boots hit the rooftops running and he leaves the thoughts of self-flagellation behind him. He can revisit those later. For now, he has a job to do. It's time to _focus_.

Jason keeps pace with the cab the imposter is in and then surpasses it when the hold of traffic grips tight and keeps them from going as fast as Jason can. He heads to the harbor because it's a good plan. Circle him and cut him off, no matter where the tracker leads in the end. And if they can find Dick before the imposter arrives? All the better because then all _four_ of them can kick his ass together - depending on how rough of a condition Dick is in.

The thing about the harbor is that there are so many good spots for criminal activities - so many, in fact, that it almost becomes a hindrance if someone wants to actually use one to commit a crime. There's a lot of inter-gang and mafia politics that prohibits just anyone from using them. Sure a powerhouse like Poison Ivy theoretically _could_ make use of one of the freight ships or one of the many warehouses in the area should she want to - who's gonna stop her? not the average rinky dink goon, that's for sure. But every big criminal worth their salt knows how to play the game of politics. Power isn't enough to make it unless you're really a big bad. But why hit harder when you can hit smarter? So even powerhouses know how to network and make connections and accords in the criminal underworld.

The harbor is mafia territory. But if one has made connections, has played the game of politics and networking, then it's a damn good place to keep a person who identity you're masquerading as. Isolated and somewhat protected. The only downside being that it's removed and thus Jason's feet reach it before the cab does. But judging by the tracker, the cab's path makes Jason certain now.

"Looks like our guy _is_ heading toward the harbor." Jason activates the mic for the com built into his helmet. "Tracker shows he's exited the cab and is walking." Which means that they should either scout the harbor area for Dick or lie in wait to ambush his evil twin. Both sounds good to his ears. Always a backup plan and whatnot. To attack from multiple angle, to hold down more than one front - now _that_ is the kind of strategy Jason prefers. The kind that makes Batman scowl because he prefers to attack head on and - even though he too implements contingency upon contingency - he dislikes when Jason is the one to do it. Hypocrite.

But Batman isn't here. And so the Red Hood places his pawns with a skilled hand capable of capturing the pieces on the board.

"Synchronizing to your exact location now. On my way," Red Robin confirms back.

"Any visual on Grayson?" Robin demands. His location at the park will be closer than Red Robin's, he should get here quicker. More suited then for scouting. Plus if he succeeds, Jason is sure the kid will have fun taking down whatever guards he finds posted at Dick's location.

"Not yet. Why don't you let the big kids handle this and you focus on locating our lost chickadee?" Bird jokes are too easy; there's so many species and kinds that he never runs out and it never ever gets old.

The coms only carry audio. Yet it still transmits enough sound for Red Hood to know that Robin is grinning in a darkly, maybe it's the subtle click of teeth coming together or maybe Jason can just read the kid and can picture it there even without hearing it. The kid's scary - all of Bruce and Talia's ruthlessness combined with Dick's overprotective bleeding heart of gold. "Affirmative."

* * *

Though he does a quick scouting of the area himself, he spends his focus truly on lying in ambush. He goes into position on a rooftop. Stalks the tracker, watches below him, and waits until the Fake-Dick begins to climb from ground level to up a fire escape. Until he pauses at one level of the metal banisters, sets down his bag from a local 7-11 which he'd made a pit stop at after he'd left the cab, pulls out a box of smokes, and rummages into his jacket pockets for a lighter.

Out of the shadows, he drops down from above and he descends upon the interloper like the damn Batman.

Metal boots crashing down like thunder onto the fire escape they're now both on. His sudden presence and the loud noise startles the man into turning around; the cigarette falls out of his mouth.

"You've got something that doesn't belong to you," Red Hood informs him. 

The imposter tilts his head. His hair even moves similarly to how the real Dick's hair does. This attention to detail is not a joke. Not solely nanobot technology disguising his facial features. A good wig maybe? In any case, the whole costume is one if. commitment; no wonder they'd been fooled is to thinking it'd merely been an alternate version. This is not some novice whimsically playing dress up. This is thorough. Meticulous. Pre-meditated.

The imposter speaks with a voice that does a good enough oral impression of Dick not to be questioned too deeply when they had assumed it was a multiverse thing. But now, now Jason listens and easily hears the subtleties that give it away when before he hadn't even been looking for them. His mistake. "Oh? Now I'm sure I'd remember stealing from the Red Hood and I can safety say I haven't."

"Not from me." Red Hood takes a step forward and the imposter falters between reaching for one for the two guns that are obviously tucked under his jacket or playing this out as Dick Grayson. "I'm sure you've heard that Bruce Wayne funds all the Bats. Seems pretty stupid to me, then, to steal the identity of his son."

The words fall like a hammer that gives permission to break his dedication into casting the illusion of being Richard Grayson.

The man wielding Dick's face scowls. "This isn't fair! I didn't even get to see _Bruce_ yet!"

And the way he idolizes the name makes Jason wrack his brain to put the pieces together. _Life is never fair_ , Jason thinks of this Oscar Wilde quote as he studies this imposters and tries to solve this, _and perhaps it is a good thing for most of us that it is not._ Oh but of course. That way of pronouncing Bruce's name like a psalm should have given it away immediately. Only two people ever say Bruce's name like that but at least Talia's in love with the guy so her usage makes a little more sense in Jason's eyes.

Thomas Elliot. _Hush._ The answer comes to him heavy in its obviousness. But it seems so absurd that he doubts himself - only for a second. But still, he can toe the waters without revealing his hand.

"Trying out a new look?" Jason asks casually to pry. It's vague enough that, if he's wrong, it can still lead to gathering more information about the man's identity. But if he _is_ right, then it's precise enough to be the exact confirmation he needs. And he thinks that he is right; his mind swiftly makes the mental connection between the man who had, last he knew, facial surgery that left him looking like Bruce but now he somehow looks like Dick. Another cosmetic facial reconstruction surgery? Geez. But not at all implausible. Odds are? It's Hush all right.

Acquiescing to the accusation, Hush shrugs. "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays _many_ parts."

Unfastening it first from a secured strap on his thigh garter, Red Hood twirls a knife in his gloved fingers. _Well_ , he thinks in amusement as he hurls it, _to be or not to be - that is the question, Hush._

Hush dodges the throw and turns accusing eyes to him. "We weren't fighting yet!"

"Hush, baby," Red Hood laughs. His voice modulator does wonderful dark things to a laughing noise. He knows how eerie it sounds. Revels in that. "You should know me by now." He frees another knife. Hush takes a step backwards and withdraws - what? A flash grenade? Ha. "There's _always_ a fight."

In front of him, Hush throws the flash grenade. The Red Hood helmet, when adequately prepared in time, can easily shut down such an attack. He sees this move coming a mile away, easily flips his filter on and walks out of this less assaulted by the light than Hush, who realizes the flash isn't fruitful and turns to flee. He leaps off the banister railing and crashes down on the floor, dropping to his knee in an experienced brace that won't damage the kneecap. Withdraws ammo from the inside of his coat, reloads his gun.

Unconcerned, Jason squares his shoulders. One of the mottos he follows in life is to never take a step back, not even to gain momentum; it translates pretty applicably to his fighting style as well.

Hush quotes, "Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again!"

And Jason exhales an amused breath before jumping down the railing after him. "How about now?" He asks. He lands hard and heavy, the metal soles of his boots echoing down. Leisurely Jason rolls his neck and unclasps the securing strap on his piece. He lifts his gun and coyly returns the quote, "False face must hide what the false heart doth knows."

"Shakespeare." Hush sounds impressed, uses Dick's face to look it. Does he think that he is somehow the only one who goes around quoting shit? He's in for a rude awakening if so. He's holding up one his pistols - Jason _knows_ he has a second one somewhere in that jacket of his - as if he truly believes that the firepower of his piece and Jason's piece are in the same league. Jason kind of hopes he fucks around and finds out just how wrong he is about that. Hush thinks they're in an even match, both poised with a finger on the trigger, but it's not even damn close.

" _Macbeth_ ," Jason's voice sounds like a haughty correction even though when in reality it's just a specification. Hush's arrogance pisses him off a little; he's allowed to rub Hush's face in it just a bit.

Still it makes Hush contort his expression, and that? That sends a fury through Jason. This expression wielding Dick's face, nah, that's just not something that sits right with him. Not something that he'll allow. "Where," Jason asks with all the cadence of a man who expect to have to only ask the once, "Is Dick?"

"Batman sending out his bats to do his dirty work?" Hush asks. Pouts. Jason hates how the pout isn't the right one. Dick pouts all the time - in many wildly dramatic fashion - but not like this. The face is right, the microexpressions are off. Too many wrong angles, too many twists where they oughtn't be and too many lack of twists where there ought to be.

"I'm right here but you're talking about another man?" Jason quips. "I guess I'm just a boring date. Let's fix that." He ignores the false face and pulls the trigger at the same time Hush does. Does not think about it being Dick's face because it _isn't_ Dick. Hush does not live up to his name, shouts loudly when the bullet strikes his leg. Hush's bullet hits kelvar-infused armor and Jason doesn't feel a damn thing. "Now that's not your femoral artery, so you and I?" Nimbly Jason spins the gun in his grip - purely for show but it does do its job of looking damn good enough that it often intimidates opponents. "We have _all_ night to get to know each other." He aims the gun at Hush's other leg. "Let's have a _chat_."

"Where's the real Richard Grayson?" Red Hood asks.

"I am Richard Grayson," Hush grins despite the situation he's in.

Underneath the helmet, Jason smiles in return. "The habit doesn't make the monk. Now - where is he?"

Hush doesn't, apparently, feel all that chatty. That's fine. Jason is patient. He can wait until Hush has a change of heart.

By the time that Red Robin shows up, Jason's gloves have new bloodstains. The grotesque feeling of punching - punching like he _means_ it, not like how he actually punches his brothers - someone with the appearance of Dick's face gets easier and easier with each new blossoming bruise that obscures the sight. It becomes just another puffy face, just another bloody nosed criminal.

"Those aren't rubber bullets," Tim notes in observation more than disapproval, although there's still plenty of that.

"Laundry day," Jason shrugs. "Wrong suit. I guess the rubber ones are back at the cleaners."

Red Robin scoffs but doesn't call him out on the joking lie. If it was just them, maybe Tim would have quipped back about how they don't send their suits to the cleaners. But they have an audience, a guest. And this is Jason's stage, not Hush; not everyone is meant for the theater limelight.

"I think I've found him," Robin declares over the coms. The excitement beneath his voice makes him sound so young in a way he usually doesn't.

Jason smiles underneath the helmet. It's not a kind smile. "Looks like you've become obsolete." His announcement is a prelude to the heavy kick to Hush's skull. Lights out. Curtain call. Goodnight, sweet prince.

"Get him secured," Jason orders Tim, who appears disappointed at the task but still nods sharply. He reaches into his utility belt and withdraws the pressurized tube of zipline that can double as a restraining device.

"Robin," Jason says into the coms and glances at the coordinates transmitted to his watch. It's not at all far. "On my way." He ends his end of the com mic and turns to Red Robin. "Frisk him twice before securing him. Then join us - might need you if Big Bird's heavily defended."

"You? Need me?" Tim asks.

"Yeah you're right," Jason agrees and waves over his shoulder and he walks away. "That'll be the fucking day. Take all the time you need."

* * *

When the door opens, Dick mentally wagers whether it's more likely to be one of those three mafia interns or actually Hush again. It would be a stupid gamble since the odds lean heavily in Hush's favor over the mafia goons but this is just to keep up with his mental stimulation. 

He comes up snake eyes but has never been happier to be wrong.

"Robin!" He smiles at Damian, who glances around the room in a security sweep and then _runs_ to him. "Hey, Baby Bird, it is _great_ to see you." Robin removes a Wingding from his utility belt and begins to cut the rope; it glides through like a warm knife through a stick of butter and Dick can't help but to give a breathy laugh at how easy it is.

However this makes Damian pause. "N - " He stumbles over his code name, too accustomed to their rule of no names in the field to go against instinct. "Richard. How cognitive are you? Any recent head injury? Drugs or gas administered?" He peers closely at Dick's face and frowns. "Pupils aren't dilated."

"No," Dick shakes his head, oily strands of hair sliding across skin. "Nothing like that. I'm fine. Just dehydration. Malnourished. _Really_ in need of a shower."

Once he's said that, Damian's frown turns apologetic. "I didn't want to comment but - "

Again Dick laughs. Oh man. _Oh_ man. It is good to be reunited with a family member. He thinks that he'd be grateful for any contact with a human being - a sentient being, even, didn't have to be a human one - but it is that much better that it's someone he loves.

"In that case," Damian decides as he cuts through the last of the rope. "I'll wait to have Red Robin carry you."

Kindly Dick allows him the illusion that he'd be able to carry him all by himself anyways. In a pinch? Yes. Any actual significant distance? Nooo. Not at all. Usually it's either Bruce or Jason that carries him out of trouble - they're the best ones suited for it, bulky enough to handle the task. Dick knows that Damian picked RR because he smells and Damian thinks it'd be funny to make Tim to deal with it.

Still seated, Dick cautiously straightens his limbs and sighs in relief at finally being able to fully extend them. He doesn't dare stand up yet. He needs to get readjusted to being able to move at all. All of him is sore and aching. Even parts of him that had remained straight - such as his back and thighs - ache fiercely from remaining in the exact same position for who knows even how long. Which.

"How long have I been gone?" Dick asks curiously.

Robin falters. Turns towards the door so Dick can't read his expression. "It... depends. When did Hush take you?"

Dick too falters. "What? You mean you guys don't know?" He regrets the question as soon as it leaves his mouth. Damian doesn't deserve to bear the brunt of this. It's enough, anyways, that they noticed. Eventually. Enough that they came and rescued him.

The sour thought of Hush's words ring through his skull. That though Dick Grayson has grown up beloved by Bruce, who would really be able to differentiate his authentic self from another version? Who would know him well enough to do so or, better, - worse - would anyone even care to do so? It's stupid but the question comes to mind and makes Dick swallow, this time not just painful solely due to his dehydration. 

The Red Hood comes through the door. He's wearing his helmet but still Dick thinks he's giving Dick s cursory glance over and absorbing his state of condition. "You look terrible, Big Bird," He observes aloud.

"Thanks." Dick just smiles in return. At his side, Damian bristles and then settles, releasing a simple huff of agitation.

"He'll need to be carried," Robin declares imperiously just as Red Robin walks in the room, whose nose immediately wrinkles upon doing so. 

RR nods to Red Hood and then he approaches Robin's side near Dick. His hands hover near Dick's shoulders. "You good?" He asks. Doesn't touch without initial assessment. Runs through the same glance over as Jason had, a quick diagnostic in case anything is obviously apparent in its wrongness.

"Oh totally," Dick agrees. When he nods a little too vigorously, the room tilts dizzily so he stops doing that. "Starving though. Hey let's get cheeseburgers on our way home. I'm dying for a Batburger." 

Red Hood tilts his head and Dick pretends it's agreement rather than incredulous.

Red Robin frowns and turns to Robin. Robin scowls. "His condition is stable - but very clearly weakened by the poor conditions he's been subjected to. He needs you to carry him." 

Red Robin nods automatically and then pauses. "Wait why me?" 

Damian crosses his arms. His stance screams stubbornness, and it is so, so good to see that it makes a grin touch Dick's mouth. He ignores the painful splitting of chapped lips and grins. It's so good to see his brothers. He's missed them. What a sight for sore eyes Damian's stubborn cross of the arms is! It lifts his spirits tremendously enough that he doesn't even mind the current quarreling between Robin and Red Robin. It's just nice to hear their voices, even if they are arguing.

"Alright," Jason intervenes and stomps metal-lined boots dramatically on the ground as he stalks forward - but is careful not to do so on the metal grating of the flooring underneath Dick. "Up we go, Goldie," He says as a cheerful warning and then heaves Dick up out of the chair by his armpits, throws him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry that puts annoying pressure on the bruises on his chest - from the _last_ time he'd seen Jason, geez - and secures his grasp on Dick's legs. The swift maneuver makes his head spin. Hanging upside down definitely doesn't help reduce the nausea or the vertigo. 

It _really_ doesn't help the vertigo. His head spins and spins and _oh_.

He passes out.

Wakes to the tender care of Alfred. "Shh, my boy," He hushes him when he stirs that first time. He's barely aware of his surroundings beyond the wetness of his washed hair and the IV in both arms and - most distinctly - the gentle warmth of hands he knows and trusts as they smooth his brow with tender care. He thinks he can hear voices in the background - Jason and Tim and Damian maybe but those glimmer indistinctly. Alfred tucks the blanket around him gently, though his voice is firm. " _Rest_."

And so he does.

* * *

"What's this?" Dick asks and grins as he sits up in the medical bed, careful of the saline drip that is still inserted carefully at his heavily bandaged elbow; the rope burns and the wounds rubbed raw and open have been sterilized, given ointment, and bandaged. In the bright light of the medical ward, it is much easier to see how much damage he has inflicted than back when he had been tied to the chair with his arms behind him and desperate to escape and had been unaware of the damage he'd been doing. The wounds are something he created; still somehow it feels like it has the bruising fingerprints of Hush left on him. Or maybe that's just the bandages making him think that. Maybe he should just _not_ think about it. 

He settles into his new upright position and accepts the paper coffee cup offered to him. Holding his own drink feels like a revelation and this too he hates. Is eager to come to accept again as something to be taken for granted and not to be thankful for. 

"Just something I thought you'd like," Tim says.

Curious now, Dick sniffs at the beverage through the small mouth hole. "Coffee?"

"Mm hm."

Dick pauses with the cup half titled to take his first sip. "Why do I feel like this is a trick?"

Tim flushes red. "It's not!"

"Uh huh." Still. After days of being deprived of the amount of food and water he needs, his standards are pretty low. Even if this is a practical joke, he'll still drink it. Alfred's brought him some soup and crackers in addition to the nutritional drips he's been on. Light food to help him acclimate back to eating. But he's sure that Alfie would allow him this if Tim managed to bring it past him down to the cave. And, the companionship is well worth it to him even if it does end up being a joke that cramps his stomach. It's just so good to have company - to be in the presence of loved ones. How can Dick _not_ take the gift, even with Tim's suspicious demeanor?

Descending from an upper level of the cave, Damian stalks over. He sets down his tray of fruit slices - aww, Dami! Are those for him? Dick's heart is warm and he kind of wants a hug - onto the metal side table near the medical bed and extends his hand expectantly. "Give it here, Richard."

"What?" Dick and Tim ask at the same time.

"If it is a _trick_ ," Damian glares at Tim, "Then I will inform you." He grabs the cup of coffee from Dick, careful to do so without coning in contact with the bandages wrapping around Dick's wrist.

In return, Tim narrows his eyes. "It _isn't_ a trick!"

Unyielding Damian declares, "Yes, Drake, _I_ will be the judge of that." And with a doomed air of one about to consume poison - actually, there's a thought, Dick should totally see if Damian would be interested in taking some drama lessons in the future; he'd probably really enjoy participating in a play like _Romeo and Juliet_ \- Damian takes a sip and grimaces. His glare directed at Tim intensifies and yet he hands the beverage back to Dick.

"It's dreadful," Damian announces with a bitter pucker to his mouth, "But unfortunately it is similar to the _type_ of dreadful that you might actually consume enough that I can assume Drake is actually sincere in gifting this to you."

Dick smiles and reaches up to ruffle Damian's hair, revels in this and basks in this affection, before he accepts the drink once more.

Wary of the two expectant gazes watching him, Dick takes a cautious sip. His shoulders immediately lose their tension. "Hey this is pretty good! Actually.. Is this from the coffee shop on nineteenth street? Usually I get their caramel latte but this is pretty good too!"

Both Tim and Damian look at him with similar expressions of disgusted incomprehension.

"I can't believe you enjoy that rubbish," Damian wrinkles his nose at him even though he surely can understand because he had moments ago declared it as something Dick might like.

"I can't believe Jason was wrong," Tim laments. "It's not even the twenty bucks I just won - it's the fact that you can drink that and enjoy it somehow."

"You bet Jason that I wouldn't like this?" Dick verifies with raised eyebrows and then nods decisively. "All right. After I..." Recover, he doesn't say. "Get approval from Alfred, let's all go the coffee shop with Jason and I'll pretend it's my first time trying it. I'll get you that twenty bucks."

"That's cheating," Damian says but sounds impressed.

Tim's smile is amused. "Yeah, that won't work because I bet that you _would_ like it - and you do, which is why I already won - but that sounds fun."

Right that makes sense. Dick just is tired otherwise he would have realized that he can't cheat Jason by doing the opposite of how Jason's already lost. And Damian... Dick looks to Damian, who is flushing with an angry pursed mouth. If Damian hadn't been so worried about Dick, he would have figured it out too. It's sweet though.

"They have a good chai tea," Dick informs Damian, who sighs at this attempt of bribery.

"Very well, Richard." He agrees. And then plucks a slice of strawberry from the tray he has brought, pops it into his own mouth and chews. Perhaps to rid himself of the taste of the coffee.

And Dick? He can practically picture it now, the scene of them in that coffee shop. The very coffee shop that he'd once imagined them in while he'd been aching with loneliness just as much as the dehydration and starvation in that empty warehouse room. Except he doesn't _have_ to picture it. Not anymore.

"Yeah," He says softly and as warm as the beverage held in both of his hands, "Sounds good." He takes another sip of the coffee his brother has gotten him - the one that made Tim and Jason _think_ of him, which is a nice thought to have - and basks in the delight of being able to be here, in the safety of the cave with the luxurious comforts of a cup of coffee and two of his brothers.

Usually the Batcave feels cold. Especially the medical ward section.

Today, however, it feels warm.

* * *

Once Damian leaves for school and Tim goes back upstairs, that's when Jason reveals he's still here by descending into the Batcave to visit Dick. He enters the medical ward with a quirked smile. "Hey, Dickie. Got a present for you."

He doesn't have anything in his hands, but Dick has the vague premonition that it's the same cup of coffee that Tim had brought and so he wants to laugh. Bites his chapped lip to contain the joy bubbling over within.

But instead Jason unzips his jacket, reaches insides, and withdraws an insulated bag. Dick's eyebrows shoot up as he wonders what it could be. Jason then proceeds to unzip that and extracts a paper bag with a very familiar logo on it. Jason dangles the bag in front of Dick and he grabs it with a smile that is growing with every second.

"You got me a Batburger," He laughs and opens the bag with wonder. The cheeseburger inside is still steaming thanks to the insulated bag Jason had used to transport it from the restaurant to the Batcave.

Jason lifts a solitary finger to his mouth. "Don't tell Alfred. He confiscated my first trip."

And all Dick can do is grin, promise not to tell even though they both know better than to expect to be able to keep this a secret from Alfie, and take a large bite of the cheeseburger that he had jokingly asked for while being rescued from the warehouse.

It's the best thing he's eaten in days. Weeks even.

Casually Jason stakes a claim for his own seat at the edge of the medical bed and withdraw yet another bag from inside his jacket. Dick laughs around his bite of cheeseburger in delight. Jason unzips the insulated bag and withdraws another paper Batburger bag. "You don't get fries unless you're willing to share," He warns Dick with that same smile.

"Deal," Dick agrees easily with a warm heart. And together they share the fries between them.

**Author's Note:**

> I based this off of how in "Batman: Prelude to the Wedding: Nightwing VS Hush" Hush has his face surgically altered to look like Dick Grayson, not his typical Bruce Wayne face. Thought it'd be interesting to play around with that! Canon-wise, let's just say that he figured out Bruce's identity as Batman but not the rest of their identities and somehow we might be able to squeeze this in to one of canon timelines if we do that.
> 
> I used some of his dialogue from that comic in this because it fascinated me: "Why do I always have to take what should be mine?" and also basically the entire face reveal scene that starts off with "The Joker. He came to me." and ends with "I've become you, Dick Grayson." + I used some various literature quotes, mostly Shakespeare, because Hush and Jason liking quoting lit.


End file.
